#love as that eternal dance between prey and predator and then predator and prey

[archonsbane]

BEAUTY IS TERROR

The gods crafted all mortals to have weaknesses, and foremost of many of Il Dottore’s is you. So when you ask him to be your companion to an annual winter ball, he is powerless to refuse. 

pairing. prime!dottore x reader, implied segments x reader, implied harbingers x reader, implied dottore x pantalone 

cw. gn!reader. reader is the tsarita’s child. reader referred to as they/them. dottore is a warning by himself. mentions & thoughts of violence + murder + human experimentation. drinking. biting. biting hard enough to draw blood. a bit suggestive but not nsfw. 

wc. 15k

an. first ever fic! hope you enjoy :D the title is from ‘the secret history’ by donna tartt. 

Dottore is no stranger to running away. 

He remembers the first time. He had been a child then, wide-eyed and tongue-tied, so unknowing about the world. His parents were fighting — they always fought, about money and work and him — and his father, a big man with small-set eyes and a hard mouth made for scowling, had begun to go on one of his drunken rants, prompting his mother to scream louder. He was crouched behind the stairwell, watching their shadows flicker and dance with the candlelight on the yellowed walls of their home. 

How hard he prayed that autumn day. His lip quivering, hands clasped together, every atom in his body searching for a hint of mercy from those who claimed to love him, both gods and parents. Stop, he would chant in his mind, stop, stop, stop. As brown and red leaves fell outside, as day turned to night, he prayed. He had never prayed so long or so hard until that day. The shouting never stopped and the gods remained silent.

Autumn reigned outside, and his faith died with the spring. It was a season of rot: the rot of the earth without, the rot of faith and soul within. He sucked in a harsh, shaky breath as the walls trembled from the screams. For a moment the house pulsed as though it had a heart. If it did, it had long been poisoned. 

He slipped out when the house went quiet, his parents dragged to exhaustion by their fight. There was no real goal in his mind, only that he wanted to run far, far away. He ran as fast as his little legs could take him, the wind in his hair, the distant call of birds at his back. He ran and ran and ran, and sooner or later the sun found him alone in the woods and free. 

Not for long. His parents found him three days later, surviving only on berries and the leavings of other beasts, grass-stained and muddied, yet cleaner than he had ever felt. He had shed his faith like a dirty coat, and his shoulders trembled with new-found purpose. That little rebellion earned him the worst beating he ever took in that house, but it no longer mattered. 

The next two times were far less pleasant. Even after all these years, they still rankle him. It had been a dark, starless night when the villagers came to cast him out. For his ‘madness’ and ‘monstrosity’, or whatever the hell they were shouting at him. He was too busy trying to not die to listen to all that. Some carried pitchforks, other crudely-made cudgels, and bats, yet all carried torches. It was like all the stars had come down from the sky to enact upon him his inevitable destruction. Inevitable, but Dottore did not believe in such silly lies anymore. He would take his fate and crush it with his hands and build a new one from smoke and ash. That house was the chain that tethered him to that broken old village. He burned it down that night, his parents still inside, and the chain broke; it was more than liberty: it was rebirth. He likes to think he was born on that ashen grass surrounded by the house’s fire and brimstone remains, sweaty and stained with blood. The Tsaritsa claims all the Harbingers are her children, but he knows he is not a holy child, just a creature forged from Hell. But Heaven imparted on him a farewell curse: the jagged scars that run down the left side of his face to his neck, smoking with resentment and remembrance. He left before the villagers could find out he was, in fact, not dead. 

Sumeru Akademiya, he thought, would be different. All the scholars were mad for knowledge, he had heard. So was he. He had expected to find a treasure trove of opportunity. He found old gray sages scared of their own shadows and peers who could not tell the difference between madness and truth. It was a shame, really. Nothing is as pitiful as something with wasted potential. But he had long learned if life did not go as planned, he would carve his way through, as a river changes the earth. And so once more he ran. 

The next time, fate would not catch him running like prey pursued. The Fatui had given him the opportunity to create the enhanced humans he knows could surpass the Heavens above. The next time, the gods above would meet their equal: a mortal man who, too, has learned the divine act of creation. 

“You’re thinking again.” Your voice pulls him from his thoughts and back into the planes of reality. “Am I really so boring of a companion that your mind has to wander off?” 

He frowns, tapping at the armrest of his chair. Sometimes the memories come back to him unbidden, especially when he wants to think of anything but the present that sits in front of him. You sit across from him (it was his intention that he sit as far away from you as possible), legs informally crossed, your elbow resting on one knee and your chin cupped by your palm. You look nothing like the feared heir to Snezhnaya you normally are. Your grin is as pure and unfiltered as the spring sun, amplified by the fire roaring in the hearth, the look in your eyes warm and guileless. It’s a facade, unnoticed by the untrained eye. Your teeth are bared like a beast’s and your gaze is as sharp as a predator’s. When it pleases you to play the darling child of winter, you do. But he knows better. You like playing this little game with him — with all of the Harbingers, really, he’s seen how you’ve attached yourself to them, not only him, and it makes his chest tighten with some unnamed emotion — teasing him and complimenting him and following him around like some malignant ghost from the children’s tales. You’re a cruel little wolf like that. You play with your food before swallowing it whole. 

“You, boring? No.” Never boring. As irritating as your frequent visits are, he will always be kept occupied by one of your antics. “Unexpected? Yes.” You barged into his wing of the palace unannounced in the night, having completely evaded all his guards and segments, and casually sat down on his couch with a tray of tea and biscuits that seems to be a pacifying gift.

You pout mockingly. “Still haven’t forgiven me?” 

Irritation flickers against his skin. He readjusts his mask and scoffs. “It’s been five minutes, I require much more time than that.” 

“How ‘bout your gift?” You clasp your hands together. “Please? It’s your favorite. I got it from Lonnie.” Your leg bounces, an anxious habit of yours. What could possibly make you nervous? Certainly not his presence, you had made that clear, with all your unabashed visits to his lab, his foreign workshops, and now his own rooms. 

“I’d really rather have whiskey.” 

You raise a brow. “I didn’t bring any, and there aren’t any glasses.” 

“There’s a bottle in my drawer. Under the…” He trails off. He keeps indulgent snacks underneath a false bottom, just because, but you seem to already be aware of it. You slide out the wooden plank and hold up the bottle, the brown turned golden in the light of the fire. “... of course, you know.” 

He reaches for the tea cup on the coffee table, hot in his palms, but that never bothers him anymore with all the modifications he’s made to his body and swallows it all in one large gulp. Black tea with a twist of lemon. Four sugar cubes. His favorite. Somehow that makes his mood even worse. You hand him the bottle as you sit back down (closer to him now, which he does not fail to notice). He pours into his teacup until it almost sloshes over the edge.

The moment of silence stretches for a moment too long. He really wishes you’d just get on with it and end his misery, he wants to sleep or work or do something that removes the stain of you from his mind. Your face flickers like a flashlight in his peripheral vision, ghostly in the smoke. Your eyes glow terribly bright, a godly trait from your mother. It’s as beautiful as it is eerie. He transfers all his weight to his left foot, then his right, then back again. You wait for him to finish drinking, your gaze never leaving him. 

“Have you forgiven me now?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously calm. He swirls the whiskey around in his cup. The grandfather clock in the room ticks and tocks and he wishes for time to go faster just so he’d be rid of you already. “Do I have to?” He’s always dealt insolence back tenfold, ask any of his segments, or the poor, cursed souls who lie in his personal mortuary, many of whom have committed lesser crimes than breaking and entering into his personal space. “You really think you’re that special?” 

“Yes.” 

He wants to strangle you and wipe that self-satisfied smirk off your stupid face. He wants to carve out those eyes so they’d never make him squirm under their gaze again. He wants to — he does not know what. 

He scowls and runs a hand through messy curled hair. “Five minutes, before I have my segments drag you out.” 

Amusement flickers across those too-bright eyes. You know that he knows he won’t. You let him pretend anyways.

“Wonderful!” You say happily, like a child just told they could play in the playground for a little while. “I need a favor.” 

There’s an unexplainable drop that he suddenly feels in his chest. He had expected you to be here simply to annoy him or make fun of his sleep schedule (that does not exist) or something stupid like that. Why, he cannot say it out loud. His company has never been termed as pleasurable anyways, as much as you continually seek it out. This is expected, it should have been. 

You place a cream-blue envelope with gold lining on the coffee table. He tears it apart, secretly smiling at the way your brows furrow in annoyance. The tattered paper has elegant calligraphy that marks it as from some noble-born priss, one of the many in Snezhnaya whose names he has never bothered to learn. They wrote that they were cordially inviting Their Imperial Highness to… 

His eyes narrow. “The Sokolov Winter Ball.” He waves the paper in front of your face. “No. No. No. Absolutely not—”

“—yes, oh, come one now, it’ll be fun—” 

“—you know how much I hate these things, and all those useless, simpering lords and ladies hate me—” 

“—they’re not simpering. Some of them are nice, like Duke Romanov’s daughter, and anyways, you’ll be with me the entire time and they won’t dare to insult a Fatui Harbinger to their face.” 

He slams the paper down on the table. The teacups rattle from the impact. He leans forward, chin raised in defiance. “No.”

You cross your arms and lean into the couch. “Too bad. I command you to go.”

"Can't you ask the others? Why torment me, specifically?" He gestures wildly with his hands to emphasize his irritation. 

You place a hand on your heart, eyes blown wide for extra effect. "Torment? Dear Doctor, you sadden me so. Can't I spend time with my favorite Dottore?" 

"Oh? And here I thought Gamma was your favorite."

"You're my favorite of all the non-Gammas. Anyways, I can’t really take an eleven-year-old to the ball."

"Just take Theta and be happy with that." 

"But I want to take you." 

There’s a desperate lilt in your voice that weakens his resolve. Could you really? This wasn’t just another one of your jokes, was it? He hates balls, hates the moronic socialites of Snezhnayan society, but absurdly, hope becomes a twittering hummingbird in his heart. 

He grits his teeth. "I should file this as some sort of abuse of power." 

He wants to deny you, he does. He knows he can’t. He feels the insidious truth squeeze at his black heart. 

You reach out and pat his head condescendingly. "You do that, dear." 

"Is there anything I can do to make you take someone else?" He waves his hand at nothing. "I'll give you my entire secret stash of chocolates." It's hidden beneath the false bottom of his desk. A very obvious hiding spot, but he doesn't think anyone should care much for a simple stash of chocolates. He prides himself on it, for all its insignificance. He's collected chocolate-covered hazelnuts from Mondstadt, boxes of assorted chocolates from Fontaine, white almonds encased in matcha-infused chocolates from Inazuma, and choco pies from Liyue. 

"Er," There's a strange, sheepish smile on your face. "No." 

“Will you leave even if I still say no?”  

“No.” And then, in a hushed tone barely above a whisper, the final blow to his resolve: “Well, yes, if you really don’t want to go. But consider it, at least? I want to do this with you.” You don’t look at him as you say it, you don’t turn that captivating gaze of yours on his body to make him squirm. Your face is turned towards the fire, the glow of it making your cheeks red. He almost believes you. He wants to believe you. 

You sigh at his silence. “You can get something out of this.” 

He raises an inquisitive brow. “Like?” 

“Archons, I don’t know. A favor for later. More funding. More… resources. Whatever. Anything I can wrestle out of the others.”

It’s a good deal, he muses. Your influence as heir apparent is not one to be undermined. Moreover, the other Harbingers are strangely fond of you. They would bend for you, and not just out of duty. 

A pause, and then, with a world-weary sigh he puts his face in his hands. He does not want to see your ebullience, it would hurt his pride too much. “Alright.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wants to snatch them back and stuff them down his throat, but it's too late. 

A joyful sound leaves you. He hears the rustling of cloth and excited steps on the wooden floors before he’s enveloped by the warmth of your body. Your hands wrap around his shoulders, and your head rests on top of his head.

He flinches slightly. You pull away but your hands remain on his shoulders. He hates, hates how his heart leaps to his throat, how every atom in his body starts to vibrate with life. He cannot, will not, let you have this power over him. He tugs on his heartstrings like a puppeteer and wills his heart to turn to stone. 

“You’ll have a fun time, I promise.” You disentangle from him your hair falls over your eyes, and without thinking, he lifts a hand and brushes it away. You grab his hand and entwine your fingers together. “You won’t regret this.” 

“I’m there to accompany you and leave as fast as possible,” Dottore replies wryly, but his heart lurches. 

He cannot explain to himself why he allows the moment to go on longer than he should. You both stay locked in position, half-hugging with your hands intertwined. Your eyes are half-lidded, your eyelashes fluttering with a mix of embarrassment and playfulness.  His gaze trails from your lashes to your lips, red as cherries. His throat feels suddenly parched and his cheeks flush with warmth. From the fire, he tells himself. 

The grandfather clock chimes midnight. 

You watch with amusement in your eyes as he jumps back, elbow hitting the armrest, swallowing the noise that threatens to escape his body. Suddenly all the irritation comes rushing back up to the surface of his skin. Many a man has fled from that look, from the green children Arlecchino supplies them with to veteran soldiers who have faced blood-soaked horrors on the battlefield. 

You blink innocently. 

He rubs at his temple, glaring at the fireplace in order to avoid looking at you. You quickly school your lips into a languid smile and start to ramble on about the details — white tie, no theme, dinner, and a ball, don't be late, and remember your manners — and his mind has started to drift to the experiments he needs to finish. There's a particularly annoying disease that's been sweeping through the masses, and the Tsaritsa charged him with taking care of it. He's already gotten a dozen test subjects but one particularly insolent one destroyed a week's worth of research while trying to escape. Then there's a whole batch of delusion prototypes in need of a field test, and it's almost time for his segment's monthly inspection. 

"—and you need to learn how to dance." 

His head snaps up. "You're kidding—" 

"Nope," you say, cutting him off. Archons, one day, he swears to himself, he will make you shut up (How? A voice inside asks. He has no answer.) and his life will be all the better without your grating voice sniffing at his heels like a hungry dog. "You'll be taking classes with me starting next week. Mother says it's about time you learned, too. Everyone else knows." 

He scowls at you. You've got him by the hook — no matter what, the Tsaritsa's will cannot be questioned. A thousand times he deflected, making up excuses or sending segments in his place. He does not think it ever fooled his Empress, but she never pressed on it. She would forgive them a thousand little times over, but when she was steadfast in her resolve, her will was as unconquerable as a glacier. 

“Fine. Just get out already.” 

Your little chuckle rings in his ears. “Mother might call in the army to search for me if I linger.” 

Oh, thank Tsartisa. “Then go,” he says dryly. He really, really does not want to be accused of high treason today. Your mother was terrifyingly overprotective.

You roll your eyes. “That’s no way to see off a guest, but I’ll forgive you from the kindness of my heart.” 

For his personal gratification, he launches a throw pillow in your direction. You catch it with one unamused brow raised. You throw it back and it hits him in the face. 

You put on your boots and your cloak and slip out the door, gently closing it with a click. The fire is still roaring, but the room feels much colder now. There’s a strange, hollow place in the room he cannot help but feel that your shape should be filling. There’s a dull ache pounding in his chest. 

He rubs his eyes and moves to his desk, his perpetual sweet tooth aching for that chewy heaven in his taste buds. He almost thinks he's opened the wrong drawer when he finds nothing there, but with a flash of anger, he realizes there's a note in your familiar handwriting. 

Sorry. I'll pay you back. :) 

You insolent little minx. You ate all of it. 

He sighs and pulls back his leather chair. He falls into the soft fabric, all the tension in his body dissipating into the air. He’s too tired to be annoyed. All the energy he exerts in your presence could do that. He sinks deeper into the plush chair and stretches his legs underneath the desk. If there’s ever been a miracle in his life, it’s that his spine hasn’t broken yet from all of the bone-shattering positions he puts himself in. 

He’ll have to adjust his non-existent schedule now. The Doctor operates on impulse and instinct, rotating between experiments and whatever’s captured his attention, sometimes not leaving the lab for days on end or going out and doing more… personal research. He’s begun digging deeper into Ruin Guards, and what he’s found has fascinated him. You would like it, he thinks. He’ll have to tell you all about it one of these days. 

Archons. What have you done to him? Slipping through the iron walls of his heart and plunging yourself deep into the myocardium. You’ve infested his body like a disease, and now it seems all thoughts and actions have been dedicated to you. He hates it, he enjoys it, he cannot tear you out of him no matter how hard he tries, and he’s tried. Oh, so many times. 

Now that you’ve left, he allows his lips to curl into a sneer. That moment — the entire night, really — was just a weakness he has not yet stamped out. He wishes he could tear his heart out and stomp on it until it stopped doing that infuriating flutter whenever you’re near. He sucks in a harsh breath and taps frantically on the armrest. He is so, so fucked. 

Dottore is no stranger to running away, yet it seems you’re the one divinity he cannot escape from.

The morning before the first lesson finds him sleep-deprived, exhausted, and in an absolutely foul mood. The previous night (or, rather, three a.m. that morning), a Chaos Core went wild and exploded. It was the last in his stock. He sent Beta to hunt for more, but it would be a while until he returned with a sufficient amount and he had to put a hold on his studies ‘till then. One of his test subjects had also been spitting out defiance after defiance as of late, dragging his research longer than it should’ve gone on. He killed them, of course, sometimes you just have to cut your losses and be done with it, but it wasted so many days spent conducting test after test. The thought of it makes him furious all over again, but he cannot be in a mood today. 

Dottore has never found out the secret of looking as though he’s just waltzed out a Fontainian perfume commercial like Pantalone, but today he looks worse than ever when inelegantly he rolls out of bed. His appearance has never bothered him before, not with his mask covering the worst of it, but his hair sticks out in so many directions it looks as though he’s just been hit by lightning, his skin is sickly pale, and his eyes are wide and bloodshot. He drags a hand down his face and moans in exasperation. He knows you won’t care, but court conduct requires just a little bit of dignity from him. 

A much-needed shower and eye drops solve the worst of it (or so he hopes). He still looks like Death himself has come to haunt the palace’s hollow hallowed halls, but that was his common appearance anyways. 

The Fatui and the servants who go in and out of the palace keep their eyes trained on the ground as he passes by, a manic grin that shows sharp ivory teeth on his face. It’s an effort to keep up the appearance running on three hours of sleep, but the memory of that night rattles around in his mind, and he will not be that weak again. Just for fun, he turns his gaze on one of the new-bloods. The way they flinch brings a sliver of confidence back to him. 

A familiar figure makes him pause in his tracks. His grin is genuine now, and he feels this is a wonderful restart to a day that has, so far, been miserable. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Regrator.” 

He does not have to see the front of his head to know Pantalone rolls his eyes and stares pointedly off to the distance before turning around to face him. He looks as youthful as ever, still looking like an early thirty-something, as he has for the entire time Dottore’s known him. The smile on his face is polite and patronizing. 

“Dottore,” Pantalone forces out. He folds his fingers together across his stomach. “How… lovely to see you.” 

“Is it?” He gives the man a mocking smile and tilts his chin up with his hand. “Lovely, but so cold. Where are the happy smiles for me, my lord?” 

Pantalone scoffs and crosses his arms, half-turning away. “A wretched creature like you doesn’t deserve one.” So he’s dropped all formalities, then. This would be interesting. 

Dottore places his hand over his chest for dramatic effect, in a comically similar way that you had all those nights ago. “I thought we were getting along so well. You wound me, Lonnie.” 

“Good. I hope it kills you.” 

A faux gasp leaves his mouth. Pantalone’s eye twitches. He turns to leave, but Dottore wheels ahead of him and blocks his path, stretching his arms wide. As much as you annoy him, he can’t say he does not understand what you feel when you do. Pantalone, his favorite target, always elicits the best emotions that keep him entertained for weeks after. His rotten heart beats with energy. 

“Pantalone, Pantalone, Pantalone,” he says, in a child’s sing-song voice, “Won’t you indulge me just this once? You’ve been so busy, you’ve barely had any time for me and our oh-so-enjoyable meetings this month.” 

Pantalone looks close to pushing him out of a crystalline window. Dottore hopes he does not, the Tsaritsa does love her windows. 

“It seems you’re the one who does not have time today, Dottore,” He says, “You’re expected for your dance lessons in about, oh, five minutes, aren’t you?” 

Dottore hisses, his mood turning sour all of a sudden. “Who fed you that morsel of information?” 

“People like to gossip,” Pantalone shrugs, amused and unkind, “but if you must know, it was Theta who told your maids who told the guards who told my maids who told my secretaries who told me.” Damn that Theta. Dottore makes a mental reminder to reboot that impertinent pillock’s system without you finding out. “You really must hurry,” he continues on, oblivious to how Dottore glares a burning hole through the pillar behind him, imagining the ‘scolding’ he’ll give his segment when he sees them, “You wouldn’t want to keep them waiting, do you? I feel enough pity as it is that you’re their chosen partner. I can’t imagine why they would choose you…” 

“... over you, my dear Regrator?” 

Pantalone simpers, but an emotion Dottore knows all too well flashes across his eyes. They’ve known each other for too long and too closely, no matter how much he tries to hide, Dottore can break down that steel skin of his and pry out the truth from his chest. “I am far more handsome, and sociable besides.” 

“But they chose me.” 

Pantalone levels his gaze to Dottore’s. The corners of his mouth are curled down, his eyebrows are furrowed, and his narrowed gaze is sharp as a knife. He says nothing.

“You’re jealous,” Dottore says, jumping well over the line that all of the Harbingers put between their facades and the truth. His grin is wolfish and triumphant. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

Pantalone glares at him and turns to leave. “I have better things to do than be jealous of you. Good day, Dottore.” 

Dottore takes long strides to stand in front of him, blocking his path once more. Before Pantalone can open his mouth and spit out insults that could have him thrown into the far northern military camps if it were any other person, Dottore leans in and whispers into the shell of his ear, “I know,” he says, soft as a lover’s kiss, “things like being jealous of them, too.” 

He whistles a happy tune through his teeth as he leaves, the Ninth Harbinger paralyzed behind him. He does not pay any mind to how his skin has been set aflame or how his heart beats wildly in his chest. 

Yes, if he could only be that way with you, everything would be alright. He cannot understand why it’s so different from you. It’s the power, a voice whispers. It always circles back to that. Only three people stand above him now: that rat bastard Pierro, your mother, and you. You and your irritating smiles and your irritating laugh and your irritating jokes. You unnerve him with the way you hold his life so carelessly in your hands. A single touch, a mere look, and you could send him spiraling down to the depths if you so commanded. Everything he’s achieved in his life undone. In this pack of wolves the Tsaritsa calls her children, both by blood and bond, there’s a clear hierarchy in which you stand above all others. 

He and Pantalone can devour each other whole, but when it comes to you, he’ll have to force the bitter taste of defeat down his throat. It’ll take everything in his power not to gag. 

He’s ten minutes late when he finally arrives at the Queen’s Ballroom. The ballroom is beautiful, made of marble and gold furnishings. The floor is polished hardwood arranged in complicated swirling patterns that mimic the winter winds. The ceiling is painted with scenes of the nature of the north: galloping wild horses and sly foxes, wolves prowling through the green underbrush, golden ivy snaking at the edges as clouds raced on a blue sky. The crystal chandeliers are unlit and unneeded, the pale light of the morning provides enough to see clearly. This part of the palace is rarely ever open, the Tsaritsa is not one to throw balls and parties like so many of her aristocratic subjects do, so the doors stay locked. Of course, any exception can be made for winter’s favorite child. 

He barely even notices the dance instructors wheedling about in the corner. He immediately finds you, leaning against a floor-to-ceiling window. One leg is crossed over the other. With the morning light coming in through, you’re bathed in the brightest living gold. For a moment old prayers come crowding to the forefront of his mind. For a moment all that time spent on his knees seems to be reasonable, if only it had all been dedicated to you. For a moment you’re baptized by the sun, for a moment you’re holy. 

The cocky smile on his face, a remnant from that moment with Pantalone, crumbles. His breath hitches in his throat. Oh, shit. 

You turn to him, mouth pressed in a thin line. Your pointed steps ring across the floor as you stalk toward him, and he cannot help but feel like a trapped critter. He wants to fight or flee or do something —

“I thought you wouldn’t show,” you murmur, reaching for his gloved wrist with the lightest of touches. He swallows at the sensation of touch. “I was starting to think you had flaked out on me,” you say teasingly.  

“Oh, no, I was just… occupied with another business,” he mutters, looking back at the entrance. A smirk cannot be restrained. You raise an eyebrow and he shakes his head, still grinning. “It’s alright now.” 

Your answering smile is like the sun breaking through the clouds. The two of you walk side-by-side toward the instructors on the other side of the room, close enough for your shoulders to brush against each other, a united front. He realizes, quite abruptly, that you were nervous too. 

The dance he has to learn is the Varsovienne Waltz. Their instructors are a pair of siblings, boy and girl, who look very much alike with dark eyes and dark hair. They regard him with the fearful respect most everyone regarded him with, taking care not to seem too patronizing. 

He first learns the fundamental dance positions. He thought he was mechanical, awkward, and unsure for the first time in years (Archons, how do you manage to coax these emotions out of him?). You said he was doing well, and the instructors affirmed so, but he cannot tell if that was genuine or from a place of fear. 

And then comes the actual dancing. 

They demonstrate it beforehand. Together, the pair of siblings glide across the floor with the gracefulness of swans fluttering about in the lakes. You had already learned this dance as a young child growing up in the icy walls of Zapolyarny, and so after the instructors had finished, you request to dance with one of them, if only to test your muscle memory. You take the role of follower, prompting Dottore, who guesses he would be assigned the role of leader, to imprint each step and twirl into his mind. 

He hates the sick feeling of anxiousness brewing in the pit of his stomach as he watches you dance. But it does not go away as he watches you laugh and toss your head back, not a hair out of place. It’s not a surprise you’re so good at this, each move perfectly executed, your angles a wonder of geometry. This kind of life was your birthright. But not for him, not for the boy who had grown up in an indigent village on the borders of Sumeru. His history is not what bothers him, though, he had shed it from himself like a coat a very long time ago. What bothers him is you. 

Vexation pools in his mind the longer he watches. He begins to impatiently tap his foot against the floor, his mouth twisting into a sneer. This was your life, not his. Dancing is not something the Second Seat of the Fatui Harbingers should be doing. Such a frivolous and foolish activity was not meant for a man of his nature. Heavens, what was he doing here? Hundreds of years ago you couldn’t have dragged him into the ballroom kicking and screaming if your life depended on it. Now he stands here, awake at six-in-the-fucking-morning operating on barely any sleep for you and your dance lessons that’ll be put into use for only one night. One night! 

You could do this to him. You could force him to take dance lessons like some twelve-year-old lordling. You could tear down the meticulously made steel and calcium walls that surround his heart with a sharp smile and bury yourself within the bloody tissue. You could make a home there, familiar and warm, floating above a poisonous black rot. Only you could coax half-forgotten emotions out of him that he thought he had sealed away centuries ago. Meeting you, he thinks, has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to him thus far. 

He wants to turn to leave but finds his feet rooted to the ground. 

He barely notices you’re done before you saunter up to him, hands your hips, your mouth pressed into a thin, worried line. 

“Are you alright? You look…” You cock your head to the side. “... not good.” 

“I’m better than I’ve ever been,” he rasps, extending a gloved hand. “Can we get on with it now?” 

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. A moment passes before you decide to stay silent and take his hand. 

The girl instructor lifts the needle on the gramophone and the record begins to spin. The music is a sweet, simple melody. He has never heard it before, but memories of days spent exploring the surrounding forest of his village catapult to the forefront of his mind: dipping small toes into warm springs as he ate sticky sunsettias, the juice running down his fingers, the warm, incessantly lovely sun on windblown hair. He shakes his head like a wet dog shaking off water. 

He does not realize just how much tension his body holds until you hum as he spins you around, your back to his chest, his left hand on your hip, and his right hand cupping yours. “You need to relax,” you say. 

“I am relaxed,” he replies stiffly. 

“No, you’re not.” 

“Your Imperial Highness,” he mutters, a sardonic smile on his face, “I think I am much more qualified to say what my body feels more than you.” 

You purse your lips but say no more. The look in your eye tells him you don’t believe him at all. 

The next three hours are agonizingly slow-paced, yet somehow when he reaches the end of it, are a blur of colors and shapes and unintelligible music as though he had been shot past it all. He would not be surprised if the gods somehow made time move slower then faster then slower than normal just to play another cruel trick on him for their own amusement. 

He isn’t terrible, and his rarely-used combat experience has finally found some employ, but he lacks your practiced poise or the easy grace of the instructors. He moves less like a human and more like some forest creature, his physicality more wild and jagged than it was elegant. The instructors tell him his lordship took to the dance more easily than most, and with a few more sessions could be flawless, but he does not pay any mind to them and instead places his gaze on you. Something unpleasant lurks behind your carefully-blank expression. His mind lurches with the sudden urge to find out what had gone wrong and go back in time and fix it. Trial and error is something he is intimate with, and his mistakes do not bother him, so long as he fixes them. He realizes, suddenly, that he wants to please you. 

Pantalone does not need to push him out a window, he’ll very well throw himself from one after this. 

“Walk with me,” you say, slipping an arm through his. Your expression is almost quiet. He has no choice but to let you lead him out the door and into the hallways. The guards at the door bow their heads and murmur the appropriate greetings. He does not miss how their eyes land on their interlocked arms for a second too long. People will talk. 

You both stroll through the hall in strained silence. He flexes his fingers. 

“Are you alright?” 

His head snaps to the side, his ears unbelieving. He had been bracing himself for a reprimanding, for jeers, for mockery. Not this. “Pardon?” 

Was that pity in your eyes? His jaw clenches. Anger, black and brutal, burns within. “Are you alright?” 

He tries to disentangle himself from you, but an iron grip keeps him locked in place. He forgets how truly strong you are. “I’m fine.” 

You sigh and look at the arched ceiling, as though exasperatedly asking it if it could hear his words. “Dottore, I’ve known you for a very long time. You overestimate your ability to lie to me.” 

He grits his teeth, forcing the words out of his throat. “I am fine. I have weathered much worse than dance classes, Your Imperial Highness. If you found some fault in my conduct or wish to admonish me then please, don’t drag it out.” 

“Admonish you?” Your eyes widen, startled. “What? No, I’m just—” 

He barks out a laugh, self-deprecating and cruel. “What? Pitying me?” 

“Worried about you.” You stop. You step forward and face him, eyes bright and shining, the corner of your lips curled into a frown. “Don’t be mean.” 

Worried. You were worried about him. His anger ebbs away and morphs into soft bemusement. You don’t move from your position, instead, you cross your arms and tilt your chin up in defiance like an angry child. He almost believes you’re genuine, but he knows better than to argue with that stubborn jut of jaw. 

He huffs, willing up his signature grin. It’ll be easier to make you happy if only to get this over with. “I’m sorry to hurt your feelings.” He flicks your forehead and thrusts his fists into his pocket and starts to stride forward. “I’m quite alright. If you’re wondering about my less-than-stellar performance, it’s the three hours of sleep I got.” 

You roll your eyes and scurry after him. Before he can escape, you grab his hand and lead him toward a wing of the palace he has been in only a few times before. Your own. 

“No, no, no, you’re not escaping me today.” A childish groan escapes him and makes you giggle. “You can sleep after this, but humor me for a bit and have breakfast with me.” 

“You didn’t have breakfast?” 

“Did you?” Fair point. 

He wants to go back to his room and sleep until sunset, but he cannot help but feel a spark of interest. Most of the time you simply hang about his laboratory and annoyed him, but for you to actually invite him to something as simple as breakfast with seemingly no other motivation than to spend time with him was a break from your norm. A very unfamiliar break. 

All his instincts call for him to flee. 

“Alright,” he says, against the better judgment of his head, “just this once.” 

The imperial family’s apartments are bigger than the Harbingers’, and much emptier. The hall is big and white and echoing, with wide hardwood flooring that was arranged in an intricate repeating diamond pattern. There are paintings of you and your mother, silver embellishments in the likeness of frost plastered on the walls, the furniture was elegant but plain, and the windows had no curtains. The only hint of your personality is the vases of your favorite flowers. Everything had an eerie, deserted look, haunted by the ghost of you. There were barely any people, only two stoic guards posted at the entrance and a maid that scurried past them. He never realized just how isolated you were from the rest of them; no wonder you sought the Harbingers out so often. 

Breakfast appears with instantaneous magic: fried bacon, sunnyside-up eggs, blinis, and biscuits. His stomach rumbles at the sight. He hasn’t had anything to eat that was more than trail mix in close to thirty-six hours, not that it bothered him significantly, he was used to getting distracted by his studies and forgetting to nourish himself. Thankfully, he had improved his body long ago so that it could weather mortal flaws like hunger. 

He wolfs down a slice of bacon while you slather a blini with butter and honey. He rarely eats with company if not forced to. Outside of that, he only ever eats with his segments on the off-chance they’re all free, which is simply a microscopic natural disaster filled with food fights and whining and endless bickering. But breakfast with you is a quiet affair. You eat with calm, methodological grace. He subconsciously looks at you, noting your dining habits, wondering if this was your favorite food. You catch him staring and send him a bemused smile. He looks away, suddenly interested in the tapestries that adorn the walls, feeling heat rush to his face. The windows are open and he can hear the world outside: birds twittering about, the recruits at their morning drills, servants rushing to do this and that. A stillness settles within his bones that he has not felt in a very, very long time. Part of him wants to rip it out, but another part shushes it. He is tired, sleep-deprived, and busy. He still has experiments to do, reports to check, papers to sign. But right now the sun is coming in, soft as a caress, and you are sitting across from him and smiling.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” you say suddenly, your words cutting through the silence like a sword. “but you seemed really out of it earlier.” 

He raises one eyebrow and takes a pointed bite of his bacon. “Is this a therapy session or breakfast?” 

You kick his leg beneath the table. “Archons, ‘ttore, I just want to be nice.” 

Nice. Inwardly, he laughs. He absently pushes the runny eggs around on his plate. “Hm. There were just a few things on my mind, nothing to worry about.” A pause. “I’m very surprised you haven’t teased me yet for my horrible dancing skills.” 

“Ah.” You prop your arm up on the table and rest your cheek on your fist. “Actually, I was expecting they’d be just as bad as your harmonica skills. But you’re actually okay. Not good, but you’re getting there.” 

He splutters. His mouth opens and closes, much like a fish, before he erupts. “My harmonica skills are amazing! You’re just deaf or inane or have horrible, horrible taste.” He pokes his silver fork in your direction. “I’ll have you know I was the best harmonica player in Sumeru, thank you very much.” 

You bite on your lower lip, vaguely amused. “Really now.” 

He leaps to his feet and leans forward, hands on the table, a flurry of feathers and cotton cloth and fury. “Yes, really now! If you weren’t heir to the throne I’d have you chopped up into little pieces and sold to the butchers for that.” 

“I think you’d miss the pleasure of my company too much to do that.” 

He harrumphs and jerks his head away. “You presume too much.” 

You laugh. It’s warm and comforting and familiar. He wants to never hear it again. “You’re so pretentious. Can’t you admit you’re just a little bit fond of me?” 

“Fond? I—” The word coils around his throat. No, he wasn’t fond of you. He was simply slightly more tolerant of you than everyone else. “—no. No, I’m not.” 

He isn’t, really, he isn’t. All these little moments were just lapses of mortal weakness he has yet to stamp out. Something else to add to his itinerary of things to modify. This acquaintanceship with you was getting too bold and too powerful and one of these days he’s sure it’s going to come crashing down on him. 

“I think you are.” You dangle your fork between your fingers. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” 

He waits for you to continue. But you don’t. You sit there and stare at him, twirling your fork, those eyes bright and big and full of inexplicable warmth. One corner of your lips curls up into an absurdly endearing lopsided smile. He banishes the thought from his brain. The silence stretches, on and on and on, until it becomes a blanket that suffocates him. 

He taps his fingers against the table. “You’re madder than I am.” 

“You of all people should know the difference between madness and truth.” 

“It’s not the truth.”

You peer up at him and cock your head to the side. “Is it?” 

You stand and circle around the table, dragging one finger on the wood. He turns his head to the door and away from you. You hover next to him, just a breath away from his skin. He fights to shove back down the shaky breath that threatens to escape him. He does not know why he doesn’t just move away, putting those barriers back up that he allows you to shatter over and over again. The pieces are on the ground, ready to be gathered and assembled once more. He is a scholar, he knows how to eliminate weakness, how to tear down and rebuild over and over again until his product becomes perfect; he can build on the evident fragility of his resolve when it comes to you. 

All it takes is discipline. He must throw you back as he throws back enemies on the battlefield. He must deny you any more ground. 

One hand intertwines with his while the other holds the pulse of his wrist. His heart begins to beat itself to death in his chest. He relents and turns to look at you, your face carefully blank, but he has known you for too long. Something stirs within your eyes, something hungry and wolfish.

You bring his hand to your lips and gently turn it over to expose the scarred skin peeking out from in between his sleeve and his glove. His wrist is barely an inch away from your mouth. You lean forward and bite, hard. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to sting. 

He jerks away, eyes widening with incredulity. “You—” 

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. There is no hint of remorse or disbelief for what you just did in your eyes. You smile at him, affable and innocent as a puppy. But there was nothing puppy-like in your eyes. How could he have let himself forget? You wild little wolf. His wrist throbs, but to his surprise and disgust, the sensation was not at all unpleasant. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, not sounding the least bit sorry, “I wanted to see what that would be like.” 

“You wanted to see what it would be like to bite me?”

“To mark you.” You move forward as he moves back, a twisted iteration of the waltz you danced earlier. “I don’t understand why you don’t let me in. Did I do something wrong?” His Adam apple bobs up and down as his back hits the wall. “Tell me, please.” 

He looks at you and runs his tongue over his teeth. Every coherent thought evaporates within the confines of his brain. He cannot let you know the truth. He cannot. 

“Get away.” His voice is hoarse. 

There’s the slightest hesitation in your muscles before you take a small step backward. In one swift motion, he lurches forward, grabbing ahold of your shoulder and your chin. He leans over you, red eyes blazing underneath the mask. Something cruel and sharp slithers in his veins and buries its fangs into his anatomy. He does not know who he is angrier at — you, or himself. You for being an inescapable prison where he was the prisoner. Himself for never trying to escape or not trying enough. 

He grazes his thumb against the outline of your lips. “You insufferable little brat,” he spits, “the other Harbingers may allow you to do whatever you please with them, but that weakness is not inside me, and you cannot root it out. You—” He squeezes your skin. “—you cannot conquer me, no matter how much you try.” 

Will you have him thrown out of the Fatui for this? Locked up in the deepest cell? Will you ask your mother to impale him on a glacier, forced to slowly wither away? He watches and waits for your response.

You smile and easily disentangle yourself from his grasp. You lean forward, one hand on his shoulder, your lips brushing against his ear. 

“Liar.” 

He does not think he’s upset you, but you’ve abstained from interacting with him outside of your dance lessons, which themselves have become awkward and brief. You regard him with the same absentminded politeness you would a waiter or a maid, your eyes glazed and the candor of your voice mild. Ever since that night, you’ve made no move to tease or touch. Even as you dance, your bodies locked in a tangle, every time skin brushes against skin your new-found coldness burns like ice. 

He tries not to dwell too much on your last conversation, on the phantom throbbing of his wrist where your teeth had bit into his skin. 

His life has become strangely empty now. There’s a hole in the shape of you begging to be filled, but no material could ever replace your flesh and bone. No one’s barging into his laboratory to annoy him or sneaking into his apartments at odd hours of the night. All for the better. 

Except it isn’t, because now it’s the night (or rather, morning) before the ball and he can’t seem to sleep and the past few weeks have been absolutely insufferable. He’s irritable, much more than he normally is, prone to commonplace mistakes, and worst of all, unfocused. His segments have noticed, even the younger ones, who have been increasingly more competent than him. He knows that they know the reason why; he sees the various looks of disapproval, amusement, and disgust. Zeta even had the gall to make fun of him for it, to his immediate regret, as Dottore scolded him with such ferocity they all went quiet in a rare show of obedience. Perhaps he should scold them more often. The resounding silence, if it happened more often, would undoubtedly improve their research and his moods. 

He stares down at the unfinished reports on the metal table, acutely aware of the laboratory clock ticking away the minutes. Another and another and another go past. He’s been staring dumbly at the thrice-damned half-empty papers for two hours now. He can feel Theta’s bemused eyes burning into the back of his eyes as he mops up the blood from their latest failed experiment. Suddenly the sloshing of the water is too much for him to bear. 

“Go. Leave that for the maids,” Dottore barks. He hears swift footsteps before they pause right at the door that leads into the segments’ living quarters. 

“You should sleep,” Theta says. Dottore turns in the swivel chair and shoots him a pointed look. “I’m not saying that out of, urgh, concern,” the segment hurries to correct, “only that, don’t you have something to prepare for tomorrow—” He shoots a glance at the clock. “—I mean, today?” 

“None of your business.” 

“We’re the same person if you hadn’t noticed, so yes it is my business.” 

Dottore rubs his eyes and stays silent. There’s too little energy within him to bicker right now. Theta is still rooted in his spot, smirking silently. He crosses his arms.

“Maybe,” he continues, with a mischievous lilt in his voice, “if you’re feeling too tired to attend, I’ll be glad to—” 

It’s almost comical how fast Theta goes flying into the metal cabinets. He lets out a groan of pain. Dottore does not even comprehend when he stood up and punched him. He only knows the way rage flared in his chest, that wild emotion that he could not name roaring in his ears. He had been the one asked to the ball. Him, over Theta. Theta was your favorite of all the adult segments, for who-knows-what reason, the segment that was him during his final year in the Akademiya. You always claimed it was because he was the most fun to be around (Only the Archons can understand your definition of fun) and so it was him you often asked after. 

But this time it’s Dottore that you wanted, and he would not let anyone take away what was rightfully his. (Your voice seems to whisper in his ear, as though you were standing right beside him, “I want to do this with you.”)

The second he realizes his thoughts, he’s tempted to shoot himself with one of the expertly made and modified Fatui guns. It’s the tiredness, he reasons to himself. The lack of sleep was poisoning him with irrationality. The last time he slept was… well. Approximately four days ago. 

He remembers the last thing he said to you, and thinks of your wolfish eyes and predatory grin. You cannot conquer me, and your sly answer, Liar. How is it, he thinks, that he has barely seen you in weeks yet your presence has enlarged and completely overtaken him? The scholar in him wants to pry around for answers, but another part, a mortal part he thought he had killed long ago already knows what the answer is. 

He wonders if you still actually want him to be your partner. With the way you’ve been ignoring him these past few weeks, you might truly prefer taking one of his clones instead. The only adult segments in Snezhnaya right now are Theta and Zeta, the latter of which was on the other side of the country doing research on the mysterious disease. Theta was the only true threat to his position… unless, of course, you decide to ask one of the Harbingers or your subordinates instead. 

To his surprise and mild disgust, uncharacteristic fear grips his heart. Shit. If you took someone else to the ball, he would lose the reward you had promised to grant. He needed it — Tsaritsa only knows how much people, especially certain bankers, love to get in the way of his research. 

The thought of you swaying in another person’s arms tonight almost makes him punch Theta again. 

Theta is rambling about something insignificant, still scrambled on the floor and clutching his bruised face, glaring daggers at his creator. Dottore would have paid more heed to a rat squeaking in the corner. Dottore jerks his head to the door. A dismissal. 

An annoyed sound leaves Theta’s artificial throat. “Looks like I touched a nerve there, Prime. Scared I’m gonna steal them away?” 

“No.” 

He huffs. “Whatever. It’s just one date, I’m always gonna be the favorite.” 

Dottore wonders if he can get away with Theta’s permanent deactivation without you finding out. Probably not. “It’s not a date.” Until now, he had never thought of it as such. But Theta speaking it into existence makes his heart thump. “It’s—it’s a business agreement,” he insists, privately cursing the stutter, “an acquisition of advantage.” 

“Uh-huh. That’s why you’ve been applying that skin cream Pantyliner gave you every night? Even though you’ve never opened it until now?” 

“A certain image is required of me, not that your rat ass would know.”

“Honestly, it’s hilarious watching you fall over yourself for them.” 

Dottore hisses. “I’m not ‘falling over myself’ for them.” 

Theta grins, all that sharp teeth flashing in the fluorescent lights. “Sure.” 

“I’m not!” He sounds indignant, like a child protesting their involvement in mischief they were very much involved in. 

Theta rolls his eyes as he stands and disappears into the other room, snickering. “Whatever helps ‘ya sleep at night, Prime,” he calls after. 

Dottore sighs and massages the bridge of his nose. “I’m not,” he says softly, almost desperately, though, of course, no one hears it. Just the empty air, eating his words. 

He sighs again and glances at the clock, still ticking away. It’s half past three in the morning. You had agreed to meet at six in the evening. You had told him on the day of the last lesson, very aggressively, that under no circumstances should he be late, which he was infamous for being. If he slept now, he could get some much-needed rest before the ball. 

It’s a fitful sleep, though any sleep is better than none. He oscillates between the waking world and darkness, his body simultaneously feeling like it has been doused in fire and thrown into the icy-cold bays of Snezhnaya. Three-quarters after one o’clock he’s woken, gently and fearfully, by one of your subordinates. In a quivering voice, she tells him you had sent an entire team to “ensure full preparedness”, which he knows really was just to say, “don’t show up in a fucking lab coat”. He reluctantly lets them pull him around in a flurry of various outfits for him to try in a long, awkward, and agonizing two hours. He allows them to style his hair, clenching his teeth all the while, thinking about how furious you be if he harmed one of yours as his fingers twitch. In the end, the effort is barely seen — it’s really just a cleaner, shinier rendition of his usual hairstyle. 

They don’t do makeup. They know better than to cross that line. No one, save for the Tsaritsa and the Harbingers, has ever seen what's underneath the mask. 

The outfit they chose, in the end, was appropriately glamorous, though not as fancy as something Pantalone or Signora might wear. The royal blue fabric is soft against his skin, though his cravat seems tight around his neck. Strange, since he was the one to do it and did not deviate from how he usually did it. He tugs on the white fabric and realizes his hands are shaking. They haven’t in centuries, not since his expulsion from the Akademiya. White hot rage sears through his bones. You are the reason behind this resurfacing weakness. He has no doubt about it.

He almost wants to dive back into bed and flake out on you; it would be terribly amusing, but ultimately pointless. The consequences are not ones he wants to bear. 

He does not want to see the looks his subordinates will undoubtedly give him once they catch him on his way to the foyer of the imperial family’s private apartments, where you had agreed to meet. It was a revolting thought: The Second Seat trudging through the halls like a tamed dog The thought of it makes him want to puke. He’s already heard the multiple rumors of your relationship, has heard the giggles, has seen the coy smiles. He wonders if the other Harbingers experience it as well. 

Instead, he takes one of the palace’s secret passageways known only to the top three Harbingers, Pierro, you, and the Tsaritsa. The narrow stone hallway is dusty and dark, rarely used and reserved only for emergencies. He can see well enough with the enhanced vision he gave himself when he moved to an artificial body. He knows there are many more passages snaking through the walls that he does not know about, yet for all his explorations and the hours spent poring over the palace maps, he has never been able to find them. He supposes they’re for only you and your mother. Zapolyarny Palace was a strange place, filled with magic of a thousand years past. He’s heard rumors of ancient spells and complicated runes imbued in the walls of the palace, keeping out any who dare intrude.  

The passageways are filled with twists and turns, with multiple ladders and stairs and secret doors he had long since memorized in his mind. He emerges from behind a tapestry and steps into the deserted hallway adjacent to the foyer. 

Truth be told, he likes this part of the palace. He keeps his private estate and rooms in a similar sparse fashion, mostly because he just can’t be bothered to decorate. But he feels that the emptiness here is intentional. The beauty is quiet, serene even, as silent as the first brush of snow. Especially when the Empress is in one of her moods and true frost conquers the walls and floors and snow impossibly starts to fall indoors. When that happens, suddenly, the palace is transformed into a winter wonderland, conjured out of childlike whimsy. 

You await him at the bottom of the staircase. 

He pauses mid-step, the breath caught in his throat. He has never seen you so… dressed up, before. He knows you like going out on this excursion or that: to the opera with Pantalone or taking a pleasure barge with Columbina, and when out in the public’s eye a level of regalness was expected in your fashion. But alone with him, usually shut up in the labs or in his private estate, you wore simple clothes that allowed freedom of movement. 

But tonight you were glittering, doused in jewels he knows could fund him for years. The moonlight slants in through the windows, making you shimmer. He has never seen you look more ethereal, as though you had just stepped out of one of the Snezhnayan fairytales you so loved. And although he never grew up in Snezhnaya, looking at you he feels as though he has read those fairytales, has spent nights under the covers living in every word in his head. He looks at you and sees magic.

He realizes, suddenly, that he wears the same colors as you: royal blue and white. And then, just after that punch to the head, he remembers: royal blue and white are the colors of the imperial family. 

He swallows an emotion he does not want to touch with a hundred-foot pole. 

“Hello,” you say softly, terrifying warmth blooming in your eyes, “you aren’t late.” There’s a tease in the words. 

He harrumphs and looks away, trying to conceal the growing red in his cheeks. He thanks the Tsaritsa she does not keep her palace well-lit, even at night. “You ought to have better expectations of me. I know I’m not known for punctuality but I know when something is important.” 

You smile. It is blank and careful. “Well then.” You extend your hand. “Let’s go.” 

He takes your hand and lets you lead him to the awaiting carriage. Suddenly the room is too hot and stuffy and your body is too close yet too far. He wishes you’d press yourself closer but you haven’t in weeks, not since that fateful day. He almost misses it, before he catches the feeling and inwardly scolds himself.

Not for the first time, he wonders what game you’re playing at. You had declared, though indirectly, that you could conquer him, yet had made no move to do so. He squints at you from underneath the mask. Your face is set in a neutral, almost air-headed expression. It was the expression you used during boring meetings that you couldn’t care less about. Was he boring you? Exasperation and aggravation flood his mind. Him? Boring? He supposes he hasn’t been trying to poison you as of late. And anyway, it was you who came to him. He had never sought you out before if not for business reasons. Was he expected to make some kind of move? 

The ride to the Sokolov estate is coated in a heavy, awkward silence. Or at least, he thinks so. You don’t seem to notice. Or care. Zapolyarny Palace is situated outside the capital city, so the carriage ride takes more or less an hour. The hour is the longest he has ever experienced, except perhaps the hours he spent dancing with you. You say nothing the entire time, simply stare languidly out the window, your chin cupped in your hand. Midwinter already rules over the land, not that it really mattered when it seems two-thirds of the year saw snow. From time to time you put your hand through the open window and catch a snowflake. There were fleeting moments your eyes would meet, there would be a pause, then a quick aversion and you would both retreat into the invisible walls you had built around yourselves.  

He wonders if you expect him to apologize. 

The silence is enough to suffocate. 

Then, blessedly, the manor materializes in the distance. He almost breathes an audible sigh of relief. He has to restrain his body from jumping out of the carriage as soon as the door is opened. He exits the vehicle first and extends a helping hand to you as you shuffle out, like a proper gentleman. Not that he was one. 

You smile at him. Still, blank.

The Sokolov Winter Ball is an event for aristocrats by aristocrats. There are barely any Fatuus in sight, exempting the noble children who had joined to cur favor and prestige, though such children were few and far between. Though the Tsaritsa rules over all, there is undoubtedly enmity between the nobility and the Fatui; the two factions are caught in an uncertain back-and-forth of power, constantly at each other’s throats and on the verge of bloodshed. In public, members of both groups were expected to be cordial and pretend there was equality among them. So Dottore did get a certain satisfaction in seeing the lords and ladies of Snezhnaya bow before him, even if it was really to you rather than him. 

He almost falls asleep internally as you go through the motions of socializing, him following behind as he has nothing else to do: trivial small talk, false fawning and compliments, pretending to care about the latest gossips sweeping the city. You did seem to actually care about the latter, one of the many characteristics you shared with Pantalone. He, on the other hand, was utterly uncurious to the silly little lives of the people. 

They mostly pretend he does not exist. Not rudely, but fearfully. They understand Dottore is not exactly in the best of moods and offer only commonplace courtesies. 

He wonders how long you can go treating him like this, like some distant, half-hearted acquaintance and not… whatever he should be to you. He has never, ever been the slightest bit interested in socialization, but he wishes, just once, you would turn your head to him and chat. Even if the talk was the silliest of topics, even if he did not care a wit about them. He simply wants to hear warmth flood your voice once more, wanted to hear your ringing laughter.

He flinches slightly when he fully realizes the thought that had crossed his mind. 

“You should smile more,” you say to him as you wheel around the ballroom, trying to avoid another mother who hoped to introduce her dashing children to you, undoubtedly in hopes it will blossom into marriage. The thought of you marrying one of these pathetic pups stirs fierce vindication in his chest. “You’re scaring them.” 

“I am smiling,” he says, frowning. 

The utterly annoyed look you give him makes him laugh, the sound deep and full of heart. 

A little later, when the clock strikes nine, Duchess Sokolov practically materializes in front of the both of you with an element of surprise even Arlecchino would admire and only scheming, middle-aged women can conjure. Your startled half-smile makes her smile in turn, the look of it sly. After a session of unabashed bootlicking, where she complimented almost every piece of your body, from your feet to your eyelashes (the only other person he has ever heard say such things is him), she asked, with a grandiose show of humility, if Your Imperial Highness would do us the honor of opening the dancing with my son? 

If anything, Dottore admires her gall.

His body moves before his mind can comprehend what he is doing. He places his hands on your shoulders, smiling widely, making sure his sharp teeth are visible to anyone who dares steal you away. 

"The geir has already promised their first dance to me, Your Grace." The words come out wild and aggressive, like the barks of a wolf. "I'm afraid your son will have to wait his turn." If I let him have one. 

The duchess pales slightly and steps half a foot back. "Forgive me Lord Harbinger, I wasn't aware." 

You laugh and press your gloved hand to your mouth, a lovely gesture.  "Oh, please excuse Lord Dottore. He's a very particular person. I'll be glad to dance with your son after."

The Duchess visibly brightens and blunders away after numerous thanks, eager to tear away from Dottore's burning glare. You slip your arm through his and weave through the sea of bodies to the center of the ballroom, the party guests skillfully parting to let you pass. He does not think he is imagining your smirk.

As you near the center, Dottore ignores the hot flash of anxiety in his stomach. It has been so long since he has felt that emotion or other adjacent ones that it takes a moment for him to recognize it. Memories of those torturous hours spent dancing, and dancing, and dancing again resurface in his memories. Though not as graceful a dancer as you, he had reached a level of acceptable elegance towards the end that received glowing praise from the instructors. You had smiled, shrugged, and said nothing. It had left a strange empty feeling lingering within him. 

What reaction did he even want from you, anyway? He thinks the instructors weren’t lying; the fear in their eyes was minimal. He would most likely never dance again after tonight. So, it truly did not matter what you thought of his dancing. It did not matter. He had gotten over the anxiousness that came with socializing a very long time ago, and it is not the crowd that is making him nervous. So what is it that he fears?

He feels himself getting more and more agitated as you both pull yourselves into position: two hands outstretched and intertwined, his hand on the small of your back, yours resting on his shoulder. He feels the sharp, curious eyes on the both of you as the music starts.

“Relax,” you whisper. 

“I am relaxed.” 

“No, you’re not.” You squeeze his shoulder. “Your body is so stiff.” 

“I’m doing fine,” he grits out. 

“You’d do even better if you’d stop fidgeting and relax.” 

How could he relax when you’re so close? He can hear your breaths and count the lashes of your eyes. Your eyes already shine naturally with unnatural brightness, but beneath the light of the chandeliers, they seemed to gleam like the faces of a diamond. 

“Is something wrong? You’re staring quite intently.” Your voice evaporates his thoughts. He swallows nervously and looks away, his gaze darting around the room, hoping to see anything but you. “Dottore?” The tone of your voice has been nothing but level for weeks, so the sliver of genuine worry that escapes into the words makes his heart jump. 

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” 

He moves as though he’s in a dream, lost and dazed. He cannot explain to himself why he leans in closer, or why he squeezes your hand cupped in his. He messes up — once then twice then thrice, missing a step or taking the wrong turn even though he memorized the entire routine in his head the night after your first lesson. It cannot be his memory, flawless as it is. 

It’s his heart, his Archons-damned heart, thumping against his ribs. It’s your inquisitive eyes on him, your cold skin pressed against his. It’s the way there is something genuine and vulnerable living in the light of your eyes. It is the way there is a very dangerous mortal emotion flooding his veins. It is the way he cannot help but want to press closer, wants to take you into his arms and sweep you off your feet this night, and many more. 

It is an utterly terrifying thought. This is what he is scared of, he realizes with a jolt that earns him a questioning look from you. This closeness, this… intimacy. Your hands on his skin, warm enough to make him believe you’re both human. 

How long has it been, he wonders, since he has wanted to stop running away. 

The music reaches a crescendo quietly, as though from far away. For all he can hear is thump, thump, thump, his mind all but submerged in the fervent tide of his own beating heart. 

When the dance ends, he needs more than one hand to count the mistakes he’s made. You had gracefully saved him from each mistake, maneuvering your body in such a way that the flow of the dance was upheld. As he bows to you, the crowd bursts into rapturous applause.  

Before he can even blink, numerous lords and ladies have already swarmed the both of you like angry bees, buzzing with life. Each vy for your next dance, the questions flying so fast you barely have time to plaster on a polite smile. You’re generally a sociable person, but your eyes widen as the crowd presses closer, each bothersome member trying to be louder than the next. Your gaze lands on him.

He wraps a protective arm around your waist, scowling at the crowd. Briefly, he remembers you had promised a dance to the son of Sokolov, and then decides he could give less of a fuck about that. 

“Their Imperial Highness needs space,” he snaps. The response is instantaneous; he almost laughs at the way one girl jumps almost a foot back, banging into a boy behind her.   

You grace him with a thankful smile. He thinks he would kill all of the people in this room to earn it again. 

“I need air,” you declare, more to yourself and him than anyone else. Before someone can get in the way of your plans, you hook your arm through his and lead him out into the gardens. 

The Sokolov estate is massive, though not as big as Zapolyarny. The hedged gardens sprawl north, east, and west, with the manor at their backs. Though there are lots of small flowers here and there, it is mostly made out of small trees and shrubbery, unlike your own gardens back at the palace, which were bursting with all kinds of plants. It was hard for most greenery to withstand the cold so far up north, but the Tsaritsa had scoured the land for every flower that could grow in Snezhnaya and created for you your very own Eden. 

The glow from indoors lights up the pathways but slowly grows dimmer and dimmer as you both wander down the winding stones. He has no trouble seeing, a perk of inhabiting a modified body, and, it seems, so do you. A godly trait, perhaps. He would love to thoroughly study you one day, though your mother would probably not approve of it. 

You walk in companionable silence, arms still linked together. He wants to say something. What, exactly, he does not know. 

The manor has all but faded into the distance when you stop at a quaint marble pavilion, the night outside cool and still. There is a large pond next to the pavilion, bright and silver as a knife in the moonlight. Faintly he hears the chirping of crickets in the underbrush, the gurgling of water from a nearby miniature fountain, the honks of swans. 

You cross your arms and lean against the railing, eyes glazed and unseeing, lost in thought. He hovers behind you, uncertain as a child with an angry parent. The breeze cards its fingers through your air and makes it flutter with the wind. The air is sweet, and even the annoying chirp of the crickets softens into a mellow sound. You remain silent, your gaze trained on the water.

In the steady stillness, all those emotions from the dance rush back into his heart. Rage — at himself, at you, at the world — burns through his chest. How could he have been so stupid? So weak? He thought if only he played the game right, if only he took the correct steps, he would escape unscathed. He had not realized he never stood a chance. 

Gods and their goading, tricking everyone into believing fairness was not a shadow on the wall, fickle and false. He would have never won. 

You cannot conquer me, he had declared to you, already conquered. The more he writhed from your grip, the deeper your claws sank in. And if he ever does escape, it will be with claw marks on his soul. In this game you both play, he has played and lost. Defeat is a bitter taste on his tongue. It happened again. The gods have bested him again. 

And you. You did not even know it. You still gaze thoughtfully at the pond. He resents the way you still stand so serenely as his entire world comes crashing down around him. 

He has always been a man of action. He never waits, never stays still. Yet here he is. Staying still. 

When the silence swells into something unbearable, he says, "Am I really so boring of a companion your mind has to wander off?" He levels a cool gaze at you, hoping to mask the way his fingers flex at his side, the way his teeth grind against each other, and the way his heart thumps and thumps inside his chest. 

You turn your head to look at him. Your answering smile is amused. "You could never be boring, Dottore. Not you."

"Is that why you've been ignoring me for weeks?" The hurt slips into the words before he can catch it. He winces inwardly at himself, embarrassed at the sordid display of emotions. There's a flicker of pleasure in your eyes as the words soak in. 

You shrug like a child denying their wrongdoings. "I thought… I thought you’d be inclined to dissect me and damn the consequences if I approached you again outside our lessons, after our last encounter." His wrist throbs with the memory. Mischief slips into your voice. "Why? Did you miss me?"

Yes. "Hardly." 

"Really."

He scowls. "I barely noticed your absence." 

You rest your chin on your fist. “Mhm. Theta told me you were miserable without me.” 

That stupid, loose-lipped segment was asking for deactivation. Dottore truly does not know where the young segment got his penchant for gossiping. It was something that he, Prime, never did. But it did stem from spite, which is where ninety percent of his decisions originate from. “Theta, as you know, is a serial liar.” 

“I’ll be sure to tell him that the next time I see him. Anyways, I don’t think he’s lying. Pantalone told me you’re behind on submitting your financial reports,” you hurry to correct when he gives you a look, “more than usual, I mean. And I heard from a little dove you’ve gotten nothing done these past few weeks.” He makes a mental note to lock Columbina out of his lab. It’s a futile pursuit, he knows she’ll find a way in through Archons-knew-what means, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try. 

He arches a brow, though you can’t see it through the mask. “How arrogant of you to assume you’re the cause behind my recent… difficulties.” 

“I don’t think it’s arrogant to be correct. Or maybe it is. Would certainly explain the reason you have oceans of arrogance.” 

“Haha. What evidence do you have, anyways?” 

“Gut instinct.” 

Despite himself, he laughs. The sound is scraping and throaty. “You would make an absolutely dreadful scholar. You need evidence, my liege, before you go around making such far-fetched claims.” 

You say nothing. You slowly walk towards him, a wolf on the hunt, smiling all the while. He stays rooted to his spot, frozen. Watching. Waiting. There is a part of him, a concerningly large part of him, that longs to feel the warmth of your skin again. Another part wants to eviscerate that part. But he stands still, and he knows, oh he knows why. 

Was it truly such a miserable fate to be conquered by you? To be desired by you? He wonders if deer run only because they want to be caught by the wolf. 

You lift your palm to his neck. Your thumb pokes and prods underneath his jawbone. He leans into your touch, baring the hollow of his throat. You’re so close. You could do what you wanted, and a sick feeling tells him he would let you. You were poised to maim, to kill, to devour. But you don’t. You simply continue to press against his skin with the flat of your thumb. 

He realizes too late what you’re looking for. 

Your devilish grin is equal parts terrifying and utterly gorgeous. Mischief truly becomes you, he thinks dimly. “There,” you say softly. “Tell me, Doctor, why is your heart beating so fast? Hmm? And—” You remove your hand from his throat and his heart screams for you to place your hand on his body once more. You grip the edge of his mask, tilting it slightly up. Enough to imply your intentions. “—May I?” 

He does not mean to nod, but his body moves of its own accord. 

You let it fall to the ground. He has never considered himself to be the most handsome of men, even before the scars. And he has never cared much for his appearance. But suddenly he is aware of his rough skin, of the jagged lines that cut through the left side of his face. He wants to pick up the mask and hide once more. But the way your eyes sparkle as you take him in, all of him in, makes him feel crafted by the gods themselves. You gently brush your thumb against the bottom of his eye. 

“Dilated pupils,” you whisper. “Whatever could be making you anxious, my lord?” 

His eyes narrow and his scowl deepens, but he does not move. “Maybe I’m coming down with an affliction. Maybe I’m having a heart attack, or my drink was poisoned. Maybe your presence is so foul it is enough to kill me.” 

You laugh softly. He wants to record it and play it over and over again until his heart beats to its rhythm. “We both know that’s not true.” You caress his scarred skin with your knuckles. “Do you think I can’t tell? This is my mother’s domain, after all.” You do not say that foul, four-letter word. But you let it hang between the two of you like the blade of a guillotine. 

He's doomed himself, he knows. Human connection is not something the Second Seat should trifle with. Attachment is humanity's weakness, to be exploited and used for his own gain. The burn scars on his face remind him there is always, always something else the gods could take away. But though he has cheated death for these past four hundred years, he cannot cheat his own humanity. It is something he can never escape. It terrifies him. It beckons him closer. He thinks of your smile and your laugh. 

Your smile transforms, though your lips do not move at all. It becomes brighter now, something true and warm. He wonders how long you've been waiting for this. The sight of your smile is the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes upon. A voice, unbidden, whispers in his ear: there are things worth burning for.

The breeze has stopped, he realizes. As though the very world is holding its breath. 

Oh. Damn it all to the Abyss. 

He closes the distance between the both of you and presses his lips onto yours. 

You taste like wine and chocolates and all things addicting and sweet. Your lips are softer than he ever dared dream of. The shocked gasp that leaves your mouth makes him smile against your mouth. He jumps at the opportunity faster than you can react. He surges forward and grabs your waist, pressing your chest against his. His teeth graze your lips and he can see your eyes widen as he bites down, hard. Your resounding whimper makes his chest bloom with pleasure. He understands, truly, he does, why you play your game with him. With all of them. To have you weaken in his grasp, to finally, finally elicit the same vulnerability you seem to conjure so easily from him, is an experience he will never forget. There is nothing in all of the world that is as addicting as stripping monsters into mortals. 

It seems like an eternity before you finally pull away, his hand still on your waist, a silver string of saliva connecting your lips still. Your eyes are blown wide and our fingertips brush against your lips, against his teeth marks. They come away red with blood. 

“You—” The word catches in your throat, and you splutter out weak noises before you regain your voice. “—you fucking bastard!” 

If I have to burn, you burn with me. 

He shrugs, grinning. “See? It’s as you said. I’m never boring.” 

His heart thumps with equal parts terror and euphoria at what he had just done. There is a part of him, smaller now, but still there, that still flinches in his head, utterly consumed by terror by what he has just done. To announce his heart’s desire so brazenly, so thoughtlessly. Yet it was a fair exchange. He had forced you to offer up your own heart as well. Catching you off guard was such a sweet sight, it excited him more than anything had in these past few years. If he had known the sensation of kissing you would be so sweet, he would have done it long ago. 

“Fuck. Fuck. What the hell?” Though he does not believe in karma, your panicked state cannot be described as anything but. “I didn’t think you’d…” You shake your head, laughing weakly. “Fuck.” 

You bury your face into his shoulder, still cursing softly. He debates pulling away, but instead, he wraps his arms around you. You seem so small, so fragile, like a baby bird that has fallen from its nest. He hums as he traces soothing circles on your back.  

"Did you miss me too in the past few weeks?" He asks impulsively. It is out of a desire to satiate his curiosity more than anything.

You draw in a shaky breath. He feels you smile against his skin. "Of course I did." The reply vindicates him.

Beat.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, looking down at your head. 

He nudges you. Had you fallen asleep somehow? It wouldn’t be the strangest thing you’d ever done. 

He does not catch what you say, what with the softness of your voice coupled with it being muffled by his chest. But you stir in his arms, still unable to look at him. 

“Is everything alright?” He repeats. 

“No.” A pause. “I’m a bit afraid.”

“Of what?” He asks, puzzled. 

“That if I look at you, my heart is going to burst from my chest.”  

It starts as small chuckles, then wheezing, the bellied laughter as he doubles over. Now you were the one holding him in your arms. There’s nothing funny about what you’ve just said. It’s not even a joke. But wasn’t it, in some twisted way hilarious, after all this time, how the scales have balanced themselves? 

You stare at him, incredulous, your previous anxious state shed like a snake skin. You disentangle yourself from him and slap his chest, hard, which only causes him to double down in his fit of laughter, clutching at his sore sides.

“What’s so funny?” You say shrilly. “Don’t laugh at me! Dottore!” 

“I’m not sorry,” he says after recovering himself, wiping a tear from his eye, laughter still laced in the words. 

“This isn’t funny!” You pout and stomp your feet on the ground indignantly, like a child. “You’re so mean to me.” 

He smiles. “Always, my dear. What did you expect?” 

You sigh. The sound is drawn out for dramatics. You cross your arms and turn your body away, chin up, a comical imitation of an irritated housewife. “I should’ve just taken Theta.” 

Suddenly the smile dies on his lips and his body is flooded with an ugly, twisting rage. Stupid Theta. Always ruining everything. “You don’t mean that,” he says coolly. “I’m the one you wanted to take tonight.” 

That evokes a sly smile from you. “Aww, are you jealous, my dear Doctor?” 

Definitely. He scowls. “Of course not.” 

“You seemed jealous back at the ball, too,” you tease. 

He recoils as though the words materialized themselves into the physical plane and slapped him in the face. “Of those low lives? Never.” 

“So, you wouldn’t mind going back to the dance I promised the son of Sokolov?” Urgh. He had hoped you’d forgotten about that. Anyways, it’d be a bit awkward to go back now. You’ve both been gone for so long you might as well ditch the party. And if you insisted on going back… well. He wouldn’t let that happen. You’d be forgiven, of course, and people fear him too much to make it an issue. He wonders what excuses you’ll have to draw up when you inevitably apologize to the Sokolov family for leaving so early. 

“It’s not worth your energy.” 

“But I only danced once tonight!” 

“It was good enough.” 

“You were not that good. I kept having to cover up your mistakes.” The words, though snarky, hold no actual venom. Though, it does prickle him. The overachieving scholar within yearns to be more than ‘not that good’. And anyway, who is Il Dottore, if not someone who goes above and beyond? Your smile urges him to take the bait. 

He does.

“Then,” he says, soft as a lover’s kiss, extending a gloved hand, “would you allow me to make up for it?” 

You place your hand in his.

Dancing has never seemed fun to Dottore. Little things (well, little socially acceptable things) have. It’s a waste of his time, in his opinion. The constant pursuit of knowledge has been his entire life. Even when he was mortal, he never understood what happiness such frivolous activities could elicit that books could not. Yet he does not recall a time he has ever felt such soft, weightless happiness as he does now. As he sways with you to invisible music in the sweet grass of the night. You mess up, and he does too. You trip on stray roots. He is unbalanced on the uneven ground. He blames it on your shared jumble of nerves. You giggle and smile and blame him. But you continue to dance, letting him spin you around as the moon bathes you in silver. Now all those years running from divinity seem so silly. How could he ever fathom running away from this? 

It disgusts him somewhat that he’s fallen into… whatever he could call this… so easily. All that time spent battling you, battling himself, all evaporated in a single night. All that effort turned to cinders. He finds that he does not mind as much as he should. He does not think the game has ended, no. You’ll play it again and again and again, until time reaches its empty end. He does not know whether he wants to devour you or be devoured by you. He does not find the latter as unappealing as it once was. Who could have guessed that pain could be pleasure? He pitied — no, he still does pity — mortals for their sad, forever-yearning hearts that beat for contentment, for companionship. Yet he finds that same weakness in him. It is utterly terrifying.

But as you spin in the moonlight, your laughter ringing in his ears, and his heart thumps and thumps, he thinks it is utterly, utterly inescapable. 

#— full fics. #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers x reader #love as conquest. love as a game. love as the inevitable pyrrhic victory. love as both sides losing. . #what is love if not the deer offering itself to the wolf. what is love if not the wolf utterly devoted to the deer. #love as that eternal dance between prey and predator and then predator and prey #because love requires both sides to offer up their bare throats and their hearts. what is love if not something that can kill you. #because love is #above all #mortal. human. #that was basically my thought process lol. anyways hope whoever read this enjoyed it!

[mishwanders]

• Twilight • Devil’s Teeth •

Summary: Twilight’s transformation goes a bit haywire, but you don’t mind though - you get to help him satisfy his cravings.

Warnings: GN!Reader, Feral Smut. Minors DNI with this one.

Author’s Notes: Written by Mishwanders. Do not take or repost it anywhere as your own.

Twilight wasn’t a werewolf, not by any means. He wasn’t controlled by the moon, bound to it like an angry lover in an eternal dance of longing that ebbed and flowed like tied. Instead, he could transform at a whim, making the cross between man and beast as he pleased with the black and orange shadow crystal that hung around his neck. Even now as he was over you, the crystal never left him and you could feel the stone digging into your skin as pressed his chest flush against your back.

All of that to say, there were distinct lines between the beast and the man that Twilight was, there were rules he had to abide by. But sometimes those lines found themselves blurred, and that’s when he found himself in his most vulnerable and enlightened state, with every single one of his senses heightened beyond compare.

He could hear your breathing as you walked, the subtle gasps, the inflections, the way your heart raced like a prey animal when his gaze fell upon you. The way that it raced even faster once he had you trapped between his body and the closest surface he could find to pin you against, his eyes trailing down you like a hungry predator. He could see you so much more clearly like this, the way your chest rose so much more quickly, how your pupils dilated, how your eyes shined during the orange glow of dusk and the firelight, how your lip parted as if you were asking for him to kiss you. He watched as you placed your hands on his chest, taking hold of his tunic and pulled him in closer.

It wasn’t an offer he was going to refuse, he wasn’t going to push this moment away, because in all honesty, there was a certain craving on his tongue, one that could only be satisfied by you.

He leaned into your pull, his lips meeting yours in a heated kiss. He couldn’t help but draw you in closer as well, his hands finding their place along your hips, at the back of your neck, as he delved his tongue past your lips, getting a taste for his delectable prey. The more heated the kiss grew, the more he wanted, the more he craved you as he dragged his tongue along your chin, down your neck, tasting the salt of your skin, lapping it up like water.

He could smell the scent of your growing more potent with every little action, with every touch. It drew him in deeper to you, pulling at him as if it were his leash to you, yanking him closer and closer to losing all sense of himself to the pleasures he could only find in you. It’s not like he would mind though, he always did love getting lost in you when he had the chance.

It pulled at him to make you his again.

You didn’t seem to mind it though - considering how your hands were in a hurry and hard at work at removing your clothes - as well as his own. With the removal of the fabric though, he could feel every little intimate touch of your skin against his, the soft and delicate way you held him in your arms, the way his shadow crystal dug into his chest as you pressed closer to him. He could feel every bit of warmth that was growing between you, the heat building as you both grew more and more desperate for the other.

He craved you, he was so desperate for more of you. He picked you up in his arms and carried you over to the bed, laying you down like an Angel, one that would soon be caught in the Devil’s teeth. He wanted to have you through the shadows of the night, until the light of the morning came and the sparrow sang. And by the way you were looking at him - you craved him too.

Goddesses, he couldn’t help himself, with that look alone - he gave in to the beast within.

He wondered if you liked this kind of attention, the thrill of the danger when he gave into it. You always did make yourself so open to him and the variety of ways he wanted to have you. You did seem to have a favorite though - one where his chest was pressed against your back, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder, a low growl leaving his throat while his cock was buried deep inside of you, taking every advantage of having so much power to pleasure you. He knew you were sinking into it, the way you hissed and moaned out his name, how you gripped on tightly to the sheets, to the bed frame for dear life as his hips slammed harder into yours with each thrust.

You felt so good to him like this, you tasted divine. He craved you so much and it was always so tempting to keep coming back for more, whether that was when he had you like this or when you had him on his knees with his head between your thighs, ravaging and lapping you up like a thirsty hound.

You were so good to him - he couldn’t stand it much longer.

He released your shoulder from his mouth and nipped at the soft skin of your neck, causing you to whine even more. He intertwined his hands over yours, pressing your palms down onto the bed, trapping you even more, making sure you couldn’t squirm away from him as he continued to chase after his own release with hard snaps of his hips against you.

You were so overwhelming to him in this state, with the taste of your skin in his mouth, the feeling of your body against his, the sound of your voice ringing in his ears, your arousal building and infiltrating his senses - everything about you enraptured him, he was deep in you that he was unable to control himself now. You were a mess for him, crying out his name over and over again, giving into him and the pleasures he provided you while he satisfied his craving for you.

His breath grew hotter, heavier, more ragged as he panted, groaned, and practically growled in your ear with every thrust, hammering his hips into yours, forcing himself deeper into you as he pushed you even further into the bed.

You were such a delight to him and he couldn’t help but give him as he felt the overwhelming sensation of relief amidst his release slam into him. His hips stuttered to a halt against you as he let out a deep groan, his body shuddering from the pleasure running through his veins. He collapsed over you, unable to move as he tried to regain himself. He soon did though and rolled off, panting like a dog as he laid on his back. You moved your head to his side and he could see your tear filled eyes, that blissed out look in them. He wiped them away as he rolled over to face you now, his hand gently caressing your face as his thumb dragged along your swollen bottom lip before he pulled you in for another kiss - one that was soft and gentle. He pulled you in closer to him, wrapping his arms around you, tenderly holding you as rested your head against his chest, hearing how loudly his heart beat for you.

Nothing could get better than this. The two of you laid there together as he laid you down like an Angel in his arms, caught in the devil's teeth.

#lu twilight x reader #lu x reader #loz x reader #tp x reader #twilight princess x reader #link x reader #mdni #spicy writing: twilight #legend of zelda fic #legend of zelda fanfiction #linked universe fanfic #oh my god I finally got this out of my drafts #why is it when I’m the post stressed is when I decide to work on editing? #ALSO I KNOW THE STONE CHANGES IF ITS TOUCHED BUT FOR VIBES JUST GO WITH IT #BE COOL BE COOL #IM NOT AN IDIOT BUT THAT WAS THE ONLY WAY I COULD ADD IT IN

[ppoppokari]

the fae of the oktober woods

pairing~ park seonghwa x oc! reader (this is for my bff katt ya'll)

genre~ (au) (h) (lowkey fluff)

ghostwritten for~ @horanghaejamjam (as a part of the atiny halloween project)

synopsis~ when katt had moved to quiet do-gooder neighbourhood they find that they got more than they bargained for. behind each preppy student and righteous priest was a fascination with the occult. what katt really wanted was to find love, but there was no way that they would find love in a town that felt like hell on earth... right? maybe just maybe they would have to look darkness in the eyes to find a love that would last for an eternity or more.

… or the one where curiosity finally got the better of katt.

wordcount~ 6.5k

featuring~ mentions of christianity, talk of ghost sex but no ghost sex actually occurs, an amateur summoning ritual (mentioned but no graphic summoning happens ), a haunted house, course language, a predator/prey dynamic, alcohol and drug consumption (every one is legal in this fic so don't worry and it's mentioned for a brief second, only seeing it if you squint), strange dreams, hints of smut at the end but no actual smut, i don't want to spoil it but seonghwa isn't who he seems to be- but spoiler he isn’t a faerie

playlist~ 🍄

a/n~ hi! it me~ i may have gotten way too carried away in this one, i was a horror writer for ten years of my life. so this really makes me feel nostalgic. and surprise katt!! i nearly spilt the beans so many times while writing this.

i love you so much buddy 🥹

also a huge thank you to @atinyhalloweenproject for giving me the opportunity to participate and for being so kind and patience, i truly truly appreciate it.

this is kind of creepy, like duh it's horror but this is the uneasy type of horror but it's still kind of sexy?

“Tonights terrifying tale takes us to an everyday neighbourhood, the houses are perfect, the American apple pie life we all want and to make it better the people are just as perfect. But this isn’t about them, it’s a tale of lust, deep desire, and a dance with the devil.

In this episode we will peel back the streets of suburbia and you will find something dark and twisted… if you dare to look.

I’m your host Barry Collins and this is…”

There was no bad blood between you or the ancient, living skeleton of a host but with a swift movement you reached for the remote. Upon doing so you were immediately relieved of the grating static of the old re-run of some ancient black and white Halloween special that had been on loop since you moved in. 

Bringing your hands up you lightly pressed your fingers into your temple, an attempt to soothe the persistent migraine that had been lingering since the early hours of this morning.

To say your dreams were getting out of control was a huge understatement, but how could you put it into words. How could you approach your parents and say that you woke up feeling as if an invisible weight was pushing down on your chest paired with sharp ringing in your ears, oh, and don't forget the immediate urge to throw your blankets to the ground and remove your pyjamas that clung to you.

Technically you could, but that wouldn't even touch the surface of everything that had been going on.

One thing was apparent as you looked ahead and saw a human-shaped blur sitting next to you through reflection on the blank screen...The only thing you had control over was the tv.

With a sigh you stood, feigning ignorance as you often did. Three months in this house and such things were a common occurrence, whether it be out of pure exhaustion or extreme confidence you let everything remain as it was. There was no need to search for all your missing items if they didn't want to be found.

Passing by a generous handful of misplaced shadows you made your way to the kitchen, stopping to pet Prince and Gizmo who trailed close to your feet. "You want a treat? You both deserve a treat for guarding my room last night." Crouching low you kept them occupied with a scratch behind their ears before tearing the scrap of bacon that remained on your plate in half. Wiping the grease on the hem of your t-shirt you all but threw your dishes into the sink as you brought your hands up once again.

"Shh stop it, no more headaches, just calm down Katt, it's okay." Your self-soothing was starting to work until a cold hand gripped your shoulder.

A sharp exhale knocked the little air you had as you spun around on high alert. Your sporadic movement startled both you and your mom, you honestly didn't know you had it in you.

"Katt! My god, what's gotten into you?" "Mom, you scared me!" Your shaky voice was a dead giveaway that something was eating away at you, call it luck or mother's intuition but she could sense your invisible thoughts, words that never formed.

"You're so skittish today, is there something I should know?" "I'm not skittish! You literally came out of nowhere, and who grabs shoulders like that. You're like every horror movie mom ever." You were the only one amused by your comeback, which was apparent by your giggle and the fact she just stood their analysing you. So, you decided to break the uncomfortable silence "Don't worry I'm just a little tired."

"If you're too tired you might have to miss the church service tonight, I know they're expecting you to be there but you're honestly not going to miss out on much."

"What?! No! I mean I'm well enough, I'm so energetic right now don't sweat it."

You weren’t looking forward to the bi-monthly sermons that most of the town attended. There were only two things you wanted most in this world, 1. A boyfriend and 2. To spend as much time as possible away from your potentially haunted house. And church could probably give you two of those things but at what cost?

Luckily for you, you really didn't have to submit yourself to an extended church service, opting instead to abandon the sermon and have a bonfire with your friends.

At this point in time, you were being quite generous with the whole ‘friend’ title in a frantic attempt to distract yourself from how shit this town actually was. Normally you would have refrained yourself from being half as critical but honestly Birch Lake was unnerving and the people even more so. Your friends were as preppy as they could get, yet they had their generous dose of duality with their obsession with the colourful history of ghosts and the occult. In any other circumstance you would casually avoid them, but right now you had to make the best of what you had.

"If you need to rest you can stay home, the last thing I want to do is force you to go."

In a motherly fashion she brushed your bangs to the side, resting the back of her hand on your heated forehead.

"It's your call, do what feels best."

Your sleep deprived mind was playing havoc with the words you spoke, resulting in the most gracious word vomit.

"I don't know, I want… I want to, I need..."

"You need to get laid."

“What?”

Phoebe didn't even attempt to hide her eyes rolling to the back of her head “Katt I’m not repeating myself twenty fucking times because you have insomnia or some shit.” Even with all the attitude her eyes met your and she smiled.  “I was just saying, you’ve been here for like what? Five months?”

You nodded your head, trying to play it cool as the rest of the group eyed you, it was hard to tell whether the heat came from the bonfire or from their collective gaze burning holes into you. If it wasn’t for the shitty craft beer flowing through your body, you probably would have had the energy required to give a decent response, but you stayed silent drinking in the flames.

Having realised that you weren’t going to bite the bait Phoebe readied another comment before she was abruptly cut off by Tao “It feels like you’re overcompensating for something Phoebe, the lord asks us to look within, and from where I’m sitting, looking through you I see that you’re the one who needs to get laid.”

Amongst your group of friends who you truly would have avoided under any other circumstances, Tao was the most harmless. Regardless, he was still the leader of your group. He didn’t seem like much, but he had wit and charm, he was the shepherd who led your group away from the bible school hall, past the theatre and into the forest to get to a small clearing. Tao was the son of the head pastor meaning he knew how to skip sermons without anyone noticing. He was also the only person who had your back…when he felt like it…which made him a D+ at best but he was still appreciated.

Each person broke into a mocking chorus of laughter, which Phoebe joined in on “Haha ha ha hahahaha fuck all of you, I hope you all die in a ditch in your next lives.”

Taking her comment with a pinch of salt you all resumed back to what you were doing before, listening to Jeremy as he mentioned some old lost media legend. “That reminds me, Jeremy you’re into lost media and stuff, have you seen this black and white tv show it’s kind of like the Twilight Zone but it’s just supernatural horror?” Jeremy looked over the rim of his tortoise-shell glasses, squinting at you, his attention was peaked. “What’s it called?” “I don’t know the name of it, I always miss the opening credits or switch the channel.” “So, it’s one you’ve seen?” “Yeah, it’s hosted by this old guy Barry Collins that’s all I know.” Jeremy raised a brow contemplating what you had just told him “I don’t think I’ve heard of it.” “That’s strange it’s on probably eight times a day and it’s the same episode on loop, or at least I assume it is.” You may have been far too optimistic assuming he would solve this mystery in a mere couple of minutes “Well, sounds like a good show, maybe I can come over sometime and see it”.

As the minutes passed a layer of fog seemed to cover everyone’s eyes, a result of the weed and alcohol stash everyone contributed to. You initially wanted to dull down your senses, hoping the one can you had would serve as mental cough syrup, even though it wasn’t strong enough you refused to have any more. So, you sat, keeping yourself entertained by picking at your black and orange pumpkin nails.

It was when you looked up once more when you noticed something flicker at the corner of your eyes and your throat tightened, if it wasn’t for the size of the bonfire, you wouldn’t have noticed it. But the silver switchblade was shimmering as bright as the stars above. So, you could confirm that you weren’t jumping the gun or losing your mind you did a double take, what you didn’t know was that this would result in the worst mistake you had ever made.

Phoebe noticed the nervous flicker in your eyes as you looked towards her drawstring backpack that was slouched at the edge of the log she sat on. In an instant you had sprung to your feet, though you wanted to run your body was stuck in invisible quicksand, fear ceasing your muscles. There was a delayed reaction of a couple of long seconds before anyone noticed you jumping up in fear.

“Damn Katt you need to chill; you scared me half to death.”

“No! I’m not going to chill! You can’t tell me she isn’t going to hurt me! She has a knife!”

If this were any other circumstance, you would have taken a chill pill and even laughed about it, but this was a sick kind of déjà vu. It was hard to determine when the dream had occurred, each night blurred into one, but one image you would never get out of your head was the one where the infamous Phoebe stood, knife in hand, a piercing look in her eyes as a foggy darkness outlined her petite frame.

“You’re totally taking this out of context, this knife isn’t for you. I had other plans tonight.”

“But…” “No Katt, you spoilt the surprise, I thought you could all do a favour for me. I wasn’t going to mention it yet, but I did some soul searching and realised people suck, and there is no way I’m dating Justin again, but I totally need some dick so the next best option. Obviously summon a ghost to sleep with and call it a night.”

The saddest thing about that was the fact that you couldn’t tell whether she was that drunk or whether she had always been this insane.

“I can sense the judgement don’t act all high and mighty you would do the same thing.” “As far as I can tell I definitely wouldn’t do the same thing!” “Well, the knife isn’t for you, no blood sacrifice, it’s to cut hair, string and other some other stuff. I did the other part of the ritual earlier, but I needed an open fire, so I thought I’d get some help.”

You took a step back, grabbing your bag, you didn’t have to be superstitious to know that this was something you didn’t want to be involved in.

“You’re seriously overreacting Katt, hey, if you help me with the ritual maybe we could have a threesome with the ghost.” A thin layer of bile formed in your throat at the idea. But what truly made your stomach churn was the fact that no one was batting an eye, they had made it clear that they wanted to be in on this either for the thrill of it or they were all equally as insane as each other.

Having stood your ground as best as you could for the whole entire night, you allowed yourself to turn in the other direction and run as soon as the candles were lit, and the sigils were roughly etched into the dank soil next to the fire.

Feeling permanently stuck in flight mode you found it impossible to catch your breath, though you were in motion already the swamp green forestry started to spin. In that moment you were waiting to fall face first into the mud and be taken out of this sweet misery but instead you kept moving, losing balance you hopped a few steps forward and into something, or more appropriately someone judging by the sharp sound of them being winded.

You had already made it up in your mind that if it were Tao or literally any one of those phonies you would shove them away and continue running. So, you readied yourself by pulling your arms back, but like an unstable slingshot your arms snapped down to your sides as you looked up to see the kindest doe eyes that were slightly covered by his loose black hair. Considering how you literally winded him, he still held a gentle gaze as he looked down at you, though nothing was said your heartbeat fell into a soft rhythm. For someone who looked as magical as the forest around him it was almost impossible to imagine what his voice would have sounded like. It was up to the stranger to break the silence and he did oh so gracefully, with a comforting smile he spoke his voice just above a hushed whisper.

“It’s okay, you’re safe, deep breathes. If you’re in danger just squeeze my hand.” It wasn’t like you to trust someone so quickly, but this felt different. “I’m fine, they probably weren’t going to hurt me, I just wanted to go home but I don’t know how to get out of here.” He opened his mouth to respond but paused as he heard the ominous snap of branches. Without hesitation he wrapped his arm around you “I can help you get out of here you just need to stick close and tell me everything. His grip was firm, but not vicious as he led you back to where you came from, you hesitated, your pace slowing down.

 As if he could read your mind, he went on to soothe you with his words once again. “We need to cut through here, there’s no way I’m letting you go back there. But now you’ve calmed down I need to know what you were running from.”  “I don’t think you’re going to believe me.” You pause awaiting his name. “Seonghwa.” “Seonghwa.” The way his name felt falling from your lips was addictive, “Well.” He paused too “Katt.” “Katt, I doubt you’d be this shaken up for no reason, plus I definitely heard some shouting.”

“I just escaped one potential murderer, so I hope you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing out here so late?” Without missing a beat, he answered. “I was picking mushrooms.”  Man, he was really out here being the most ethereal forest being in the universe. Noticing your bewilderment, he continued “My grandma used to forage as a child, and she asked me to go get some mushrooms.” Despite his simple explanation many of your questions remained unanswered, yet your curiosity pushed forward. “So, you’re a fan of ghost mushrooms then, interesting.” Seonghwa grinned at your dry retort “I’m more of an oyster mushroom guy, I imagine the poison would be too bitter for me.”

Scoffing at his response you were captivated by the instant shimmer of light that cast itself onto his cheek, as if he was warmed by the rays he hummed in delight, even though it was a mere streetlamp.

“There you go, I should be getting home.”

Your mind had already weaved a beautiful narrative of discovering “the one” hiding out beneath the shady leaves, so you held onto his arm for a few seconds too long. Seonghwa noticed, tilting his head like a curious rabbit before realisation set in. His soft gaze flickered with a sense of confidence, “Unless you’d prefer that I walk you home.” “I would like that but please don’t keep your grandma waiting.” “I don’t think she’ll mind; evening walks are kind of a norm for me.” “Thank you so much, I owe you one.” Seonghwa looked off into the distance shielding you from his suave grin, part of him hoping that you would give him something sensual in return. Despite his sinful temptation he looked back at you his sharp eyes softening as he feigned innocence. “Katt” He savoured each syllable, “You don’t owe me anything, unless…” He dropped the sentence hoping you’d bite back enough for him to charm you. “Whatever it is, yes.” “I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, friend.”

For the first time that night you genuinely laughed.

“It’s your lucky day, I’m definitely looking for new friends.” The transition between extreme fear and instantaneous lovesickness left you in a daze, so much so that you didn’t realise that either A. Seonghwa knew where you lived or B. That you subconsciously knew where your house was, nor had you realised that you had released his arm from your tight, timid grasp. The swinging of your arms brought forward the autumn winds which then brought forward the faint smell of dirt and mushrooms. The conversation itself was way more colourful than the streetlights that made his eyes twinkle.

The house called your name, but you refused to listen, hesitant to leave Seonghwa’s side. It’s not like you fully believed that it was haunted or evil it just wasn’t it.  If he noticed your hesitance, he didn’t acknowledge it. There was something he wanted to say, but instead he glared at the house as if he had a vendetta against it.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.” “Of course, anything to see you safe from the Oktober ghouls and witches.” He said that part with a smooth chuckle, swiping his lower lip with his tongue.

“I hope to see you sometime soon Katt. You made my night even though you practically winded me.” “Hey! I said I was sorry, I think, look I was scared.” “Well, how about you make it up to me with a hug next time? Good night Katt.” One sheepish smile and a polite wave later and Seonghwa was up the road, looking back at you as you entered your house. What he didn’t see or hear was the delighted squeal you let out as you clutched your heart, excited butterflies warmed your heart as you closed your eyes, his face, no his smile, no… his everything was a good enough reason to keep your eyes clenched shut as you walked to your room, again it felt like you already knew this place like the back of your hand. Once you had made it to your room you fell back on your bed, too dazed, and your heart feeling too light to notice the misplaced shadows or the murmuring that surrounded you.

You had fallen asleep, something you found hard to believe, but what was more of a shock was the fact that you also left the door unlocked. Your parents were prepared to enter a house devoid of all your belongings. Luckily nothing had been stolen and even better, after losing sight of you at church, they returned home to find you asleep with a peaceful smile on your face. Even so, they wasted no time questioning your whereabouts as soon as you made your way downstairs for breakfast. You had a keen sense of self-awareness in the way that you knew that your lie was utter bullshit, yet you decided to commit to the bit and claim that you were there for most of the bible study session until you got a stomach-ache and that the church knew about the entire situation and that Tao had walked you home.

“You know you can be honest Katt.” “I’m telling the truth! I haven’t been well lately; it might be a summer cold or like an autumn cold? All I know is it sucks, and I still don’t feel good.” Your dad was certainly more amused by your flailing arms as opposed to your mom who shovelled more syrup-drenched pancakes onto your plate, hoping you would calm down and eat. You didn’t show any sign of stopping, so your mom took any type of silence to interject “Don’t let your pancakes go cold.” Hoping that you had convinced your parents enough you ate, savouring the syrup. You were in no rush to finish them trying to delay the ordeal of doing the dishes today, yet it was that day that your saviour arrived at the door.

As soon as the knock resounded throughout the entire house you jumped up, speed walking away from your parents prying gaze. At this stage you would have been relieved to see the damn mailman, However, you were greeted with something way better. His hair gently fell across his forehead, even though it was a wavy mess it seemed calculated, and he wore a plain white shirt. Only one thought crossed your mind, ‘Were his lips always so rosy?’ Being so captivated by his morning beauty, you overlooked the basket in his hands. “Good morning Katt, I hope I didn’t wake you, but I’m just dropping by to give this to you, see it as a housewarming gift from both of us.” “I, that’s so sweet! You didn’t have to do that, really.” You hadn’t been able to put your finger on it last night but there was something about his eyes, whenever you looked into them you felt even more determined to keep him a secret, he was your own personal fairy, he was magical in every way, a midsummer’s night dream.

As soon as you heard your parents approaching you leaned in close to him, your breath catching the corner of his ear “I’m inviting you inside act like you don’t know me, I haven’t told my parents about you yet.” Seonghwa nodded “Why don’t you come inside?” Seonghwa was about to step inside, but he hesitated, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched. Cursing on the inside he stepped inside, lured in by the way you looked over your shoulder, beckoning him to follow you.

Seonghwa had always been perceptive, he could sense when he wasn’t wanted and even though he knew you were ecstatic to see him the constant chattering of disembodied voices was headache inducing. Still Seonghwa smiled appearing as charming as ever when he introduced himself to your parents “I can’t stay for long, I just wanted to drop this off.” You couldn’t tell if his ethereal nature was lost on them or whether they were in awe of him like you were. They seemed almost robotic in their response; it was rare for them to be this polite to anybody especially a guy that you liked. He must have had that effect on people.

“Park Seonghwa, I just got back a couple of days ago, out of town for my grandmother’s knee operation, we made this together to welcome you. It’s sort of a tradition of ours.” Your mom stood, impressed by his reserved nature. She reached for the basket noticing that it was predominantly food combined with a few small ornaments. “It’s all homemade.” He had a habit of smiling whenever he mentioned his grandma and it made you wonder if she was just as kind as Seonghwa.

Your mom was somewhat shocked at the revelation she gestured to the wooden ornaments “These too?” “Yeah, we carved them out of oak.”  You knew her silence meant that she was impressed, marvelling at the fine lines etched into the wood but Seonghwa couldn’t read her. “It’s not a good luck charm or anything it’s just something good to look at.” “I think it’ll look perfect right here.” Pushing it into the centre of the dining room table your mom scooped the basket into her arms. “Wait, is that strawberry jam? Pass it here.” Passing you the old hand-painted jar she walked into your kitchen, you assumed they were probably going to wear his name out behind his back, it was apparent by the fact that your dad trailed after her instead of Gizmo or Prince.

“You’re so magical I was literally craving strawberry jam.”  Since they had walked away Seonghwa had relaxed, a flirty smile overtaking him as he noticed you struggling with the jar. The brush of his hand sent a jolt of flaming electricity down your spine, but it had yet to disappear as his cool hands lingered on top of yours. “I’ll get that.” Upon passing the jar to him it was open in one swift motion of his wrist, as a force of habit you reached for the jar “Oh my, I told you I got it.”  Placing the jar on the table he dipped the discarded butter knife into it collecting the jam. He did the following with such ease, tearing off the edge of an untainted pancake and smearing it with red.

It was naïve of you to think that Seonghwa was an innocent man, devoid of any form of lust, in the short time you had known him he was constantly dancing on the fine line of being an innocent boy and a man fully aware of everything around him. In short, he knew what he was doing when he brought the pancake up to your mouth. His fingers were skilfully positioned to ensure that once you took a bite the jam would dirty them, in any other situation he would avoid anything sticky or that wasn’t mud. Unlike those moments he knew that someone, you, would clean them for him. Instead of removing his fingers he let them linger until you licked the jam from his fingers.

“That’s it.”

Seonghwa’s words meant nothing at the time, but that was then after spending each day together that’s the reality you now had. You went from taking comfort into Tao’s kindness to chasing after Seonghwa, or at least you would be the one chasing after him if he didn’t show up at your house or approach you while you were out and lure you away. Following the situation with the strawberry jam Seonghwa was subtle. He would edge you by showing the side of him that was willing to kiss you silly, but for some reason he never did kiss you. He wanted to but not yet. So here you were in a section of the woods that you most likely ran past in a panic on that one night that you never wanted to relive. For once your life seemed like one every suburban teen lived even if you were a little too old to be considered one. You sat on the ratty tartan picnic blanket drowning in happiness.

Seonghwa made a habit of occasionally looking up at you from his section of the clearing, his hands littered with dirt as he ran his hands across the clumped dirt while he hummed along to the radio. “I swear I’m not holding it against you, but you did promise to help me.” “And I will I’m just thinking.” “About?” “Things… but more importantly why don’t you ever wear gloves when you do that?” “It depends on the answer that you want. I can give you sane or insane, take your pick.” “I’ll take the Seonghwa answer.” “Maybe it’s not the weirdest thing ever but I like the feeling of the dirt on my fingers so damp and cool, plus who needs cologne when the dirt makes you smell so fresh.” “Seonghwa, you know that half of the time I can’t tell whether you’re telling the truth or not.” “Yes, and I thought that’s what made you like me. I’m pretty sure you said you liked my Hozier charm, even though he probably copied my likeness.” Seonghwa prodded at the dirt again.

It was the second time you broke your promise to Seonghwa, you did say you would help him collect, mushrooms, acorns, and butterfly wings amongst other things. It sounded like a fun Saturday afternoon but as the time came you just wanted to admire how beautiful he was, a hobby that you discovered days after meeting him. The leaves blocked out the afternoon sun, providing you with the privacy you needed to make the next move.

Seonghwa looked straight ahead, despite being away from you he could hear the thudding in your chest, he sensed fear. But it didn’t make sense he hadn’t done it yet, immediate dread filled him. It seemed you had finally caught on to his lies. Instead of showing his exasperation he kept looking ahead at him, ignoring the centipede that crawled over him he pressed his palms into the wet dirt trying to calm himself. He didn’t feel fear, don’t get it twisted his dread came from the fact that the game of cat and mouse had been cut incredibly short.

“Seonghwa, I have something to tell you.” That’s not what he expected, he sighed in relief he had never been the best at reading human emotions. Bracing himself to be ever the gentleman you knew him to be Seonghwa rose from the ground, patting his on his upper thigh. Approaching you he kneeled peering into the deepest part of your eyes “What is it?” Honestly you were prepared to shout it out to him but having him this knocked all the air out of your body.

‘Get it together Katt’ you thought when he brought his hand up to your shoulder. His gaze was hooded waiting for permission, he was monstrous on the inside, but he wasn’t devoid of sympathy even if it was false in nature.

“I didn’t keep my promise.” “You silly thing, you can always start by searching over there.” “Not that promise… You told me the night we met that you wanted a friend, I owed it to you, and I can’t do it.” He thought he knew how this was going to end, yet you had him stumped. “None of this makes any sense Katt.”

“I don’t know how else to say this Seonghwa, I love you and that’s it.”

If Seonghwa knew how to feel guilt he would have but that wasn’t the way of the incubus, then again, he didn’t know whether he ever acted like his kind. As far as he knew he was the only one who played with his victims before devouring their lustful souls. It was the thrill of the chase he wanted more than anything. After your confession you had looked away from him, your nerves had gotten the best of you. But by the time you looked back up at him your heart that you had so lovingly given to him got caught in your throat. Your first reaction was to scream so you did, but over the loud radio and his hand pressed against your throat there was no way that scream would grace his presence.

Looking ahead all, you could do was shudder at the man in front of you, though he no longer looked like a living man. His skin was light pewter, coated in thick crackling mud that hardened across his arms, except for the mud on his finger which smeared against your skin. And his eyes? Oh, his eyes were something, even in your terrified state you wanted to swim in his too cold to be orange and the too hot to be blue eyes.

“Sshh little one, if you listen to me I… Well, I doubt you’ll be getting out of here anytime soon. But don’t fret.” The creature between you clicked his tongue against his partially sharpened teeth, but he faltered as you gurgled out a panicked gasp. “Katt, Katt, Katt what am I ever going to do with you. You betrayed my trust; you said you would promise to be my friend yet you’re looking at me like I’m a monster. Seonghwa leaned in his cool breath tickling the edge of your ear. “I couldn’t sense lust like I did when I first met Pheobe, she was lying there inside of the string circle oh so desperate. But let me tell you this. I didn’t want her. I wanted you.” Seonghwa released you and to his surprise you didn’t run, and it warmed him. After all, Seonghwa truly felt like he wasn’t like any other incubus, he didn’t know love, he thrived on fear, but you had captivated him. So, he intended to use the time he had with you to present you with the offer of a lifetime.

“Seonghwa, please I don’t want to die like this.” Seonghwa brought both of his hands up again but this time he cupped your face “Don’t be sorry sweetheart, you have no reason to fear me. You’re lucky she was so far north, if she was in any other part of the forest she could have easily summoned San, Mingi or Hongjoong and trust me they wouldn’t have let you leave. It’s still me.” It was frankly insane, this had to be one of your elaborate nightmares. “Katt, I was willing to kill you, but not now, I have other plans. I just want you to hear me out but first I would like you to enlighten me. Tell me… why were you so keen to want me?”

The urge to run was still present but looking at him you still managed to see the man you fell in love with, it was odd to still love something like him but his voice, this everything was enough to have you chasing after him. “I thought I finally found the person who truly understands me, I thought you would fool me into liking this stupid town but turns out I was the stupid one.”

“If you’re a fool then I am as equally so for I have a proposal.” His eyes were flickering like two sleepy flames ready to die out, you would have run but one thing was keeping you where you were, the growing warmth in his touch.

“I recall each word you uttered to me, you want the nightmares to stop, you want the voices to stop. What if I said I could help you?” Your throat was ashen dry, so you gave up on answering him, but your eyes said it all. “Instead of making a deal with the devil I would like you to consider making a deal with an incubus. Even if you failed to keep your promises, I know you will be able to keep this one.” At first you had assumed that your compliance was a way of survival but as strange, sick, and twisted as it sounded your heart already found a way to love him. “Tell me about this deal.”

Today was a day of firsts and Seonghwa finally had the pleasure of saying that he had experienced resting his head against that of someone he would have loved if he were human. “If you agree to do this, let me bed you out here let me give you a part of myself I can guarantee that no one in this town, human, demon, or ghost will harm you. I will protect you Katt, I will take away all the noise and all your nightmares if you let me.” “Please do it.”

He crashed his lips onto yours, you savoured the taste. It was rough but knowing Seonghwa or whoever this creature was it was safety. Bringing your arms up you clasped them around him encouraging him to dip his body down. “I’m trying hard Katt, but I want to taste you.” “I didn’t think incubuses cared about their victims.” “You’re mistaken you’re definitely mine but a victim? Of course not.” Seonghwa’s touch seemed to transition from stone cold to warm and comforting with each lingering kiss. After dragging them across each inch of your body he unbuttoned your black and orange cardigan. One, two or three kisses and you were addicted, it was hard to tell as each kiss bled into the other. Instead of letting the cardigan fall off your shoulder Seonghwa hooked the edge of it with his finger, dragging it down. Expecting more gentle touches you were startled by the sensation of his teeth nipping at your bare skin, ever the mystic forest fairy he seemed to be he made roses bloom in his wake.

You had snuck through the back door this time, another faint smile gracing your lips, another difference was the fact that your parents were home this time. They remained optimistic, you were bright and talkative over the past few weeks, but this time you walked straight past them. Taking a seat on the couch you stared at the black screen ahead of you, you looked a mess, but you loved it. Your eyes were too cold to be orange and too hot to be blue, the mud was beginning to crack on your skin but probably the thing you were the most grateful for was the fact that Seonghwa kept his promises, the voices in your head ceased to exist and for a split second you could see Seonghwa sitting next to you.

“Whatever I feel for you Katt know it’s the most powerful thing in this waking world.” His words melted away along with his smoky figure. Staring ahead of the screen you couldn’t help but sigh as you rubbed your head before laughing, that was a habit you could stop now. The pain and the voices ceased thanks to him. As you closed your eyes, reliving the sensation of Seonghwa’s body on yours, his tongue wrapped around your most sensitive areas and his hands scratching down your back you closed your eyes. All that was heard was the tv turning on as the same ancient host was brought back to life.

“I will let you in on a little secret, listen closely. Sometimes love and terror can prove to be as beautiful as one another, we chase love because we fear that we will be alone but some of us look fear incarnate in the eyes and we fall in love. Next door to that everyday neighbourhood, that American apple pie life, is a forest. And some of us let curiosity get the better of us, but it’s certainly not all bad for we find new life by running away from the old. The piercing yowling of the ghosts cease to exist, because Katt looked evil in the eye and hidden underneath his heaving breath Katt heard a faint thud of a heartbeat."

all rights reserved to ppoppokari

#atinyhalloweenproject #park seonghwa #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x oc #ateez seonghwa #kpop x reader #ateez #au #demon au #demon seonghwa #ateez demon au #ateez x oc #incubus seonghwa

[thegamingcatmom]

Good evening, lovely Cat Mom! 👋🏻😸💖

I hope that this message finds you well.. aka feeling wonderfully insane, feeding the delightful dark things in your mind, and continuing to fuel your obsession with our favourite undead Mommy! 😌💞

I felt it necessary that this particular part of your reply to one of my asks deserves its own little response from me because [ *sounds of lesbian feral screaming into her pillow* ] 😩😻

(Tbh I´ve been itching to use the term "mate" for our poor little Drama Queen for a while now because it´s got such a feral feeling to it and it tells us quite a bit about Momma´s inner workings because mate is basically the equivalent to mine mine mine now and forever and there´s probs lots of biting going on and mating dance and courting and chasing is foreplay and also brrrrrrrrrr and 🥵)

As a lover of A/B/O fiction and primal kink stuff.. this sort of thing drives me crazy! It makes me vibrate with need! 🥴😵‍💫 Therefore, I am obviously eternally grateful for you seeing reader as Momma’s mate, and viewing Ellie as an alpha, and including those descriptors in your writing.

As soon as there is any sort of mention of things such as: being someone’s mate, being owned, the alpha / omega dynamic, predator / prey roles, foreplay in the form of being chased / hunted, being marked or bitten as a form of visible ownership, claiming / being claimed, mating, and breeding.. I am done for! 🥵😮‍💨

RIP me.. in the best possible way! 😻💘

Also, this little snippet from your reply to someone else’s ask:

“..clearly you approve of her display of strength, of showing who’s at the top of the food chain - an apex predator, an alpha-“

Upon reading that line alone:

I am feeling rather insane over Momma’s mating dance, as her showing off her alpha prowess and proving herself to be more than a worthy mate for reader involving her slaughtering those who she sees as possible competition ( aka absolutely anyone! ) in front of you to impress you, and leaving absolute carnage and utter chaos in her wake in her attempts to court you, is just so.. afshdkfkehshdkhddhaaaaaagh! 🤤

Where do I sign up for an unhinged woman to treat me this way? SIGN ME UP! 🖊️🙏🏻

AIGHT YALL please do line up right here-

*gestures losely to the hole that´s opened up*

- for a one-way ticket to hell.

But be warned because it´s swarmed with unhinged, murderous, demonic women lusting after your flesh and blood and other bodily fluids and limbs might get sent flying absolutely everywhere SO strong is their desire, their instinct to climb inside your body so that you can be one now and forever because they need to be with you every second every step like a leech and eternity can be rather long lemme tell ya so it is strongly advised to proceed with caution and take a moment to think very carefully about-

...alright then.

(Yall thirsty af, shame on you.)

But where are my manners?!

HELLAW lovely ghost aka was Mommy! 🥰💕

Your messages are always so fucking sweet and thoughtful I- 🥺💗🥺💗🥺💗🥺

ALSO, reading through your ask made me realize how utterly delicious deranged!Maggot Momma sounds even thought that´s literally my view of her so I SHOULD know how it sounds but seeing someone else wrapping it all up so nicely and with these words (alpha prowess made me melt) is just another thing entirely and makes me feel things. 🥵🥵🥵🥵

(Also, I feel it necessary to point out that my brain is a fountain of insanity and it doesn´t look like it´s gonna be exhausted anytime soon.)

And AOSFNASLNÖSAGANK primal!Momma is delicious ain´t she?? And just thinking about anything involving A/B/O universe with Maggot Momma is- I-

IDEAS THOUGHTS FEELS-

OKAY LISTEN,

I think it´s become quite clear by now that I, indeed, view Momma as the alpha, the leader of the pack (of Undeads). There´s this certain dynamic going on between her and the other Deadites/demons and it´s very likely I´m going to delve deeper into that in the future because pack dynamics (especially of the demonic kind) are just a special kind of 🥵

My recent work is a pretty good example of what we can expect of Momma & The Pack in the future and how she deals with things like insubordination.

...Insubordination concerning that bunch of misfits of course. Not her perfect Drama Queen because her mate can do no wrong because they´re perfect and if yall ever dare even implying such a thing then Momma´s personally gonna drag your ass to hell where you can rot for all eternity.

But yeah, it´s basically Maggot Momma constantly feeling this need to prove herself and gallavant about - showing everyone that alpha prowess - because not only does it secure her place as the top dog but (she thinks) it also lets her have allll the puss-

I mean-

As with all (or most) animals, the only things that matter when it comes to laying claim to a female are strength and size. And Momma´s got both.

#evil dead rise #maggot mommy #deadites #evil dead rise...but gayer #alyssa sutherland #ellie bixler

[charmspoint]

Sanguine Friday 3

This friday is for the second protagonist and the love interets, Duchess Eliza.

Beautiful art once again done by @lilleeboi (keep an eye out because there will be an updated version :3)

Name: Elizabeth

Gender: Cisgender woman

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 118yrs

Height: 204cm

Orientation: Aromantic Bisexual

Affiliation: Goddess Lurza and the vampire faction

Belief faction: The worshipers of the Unwillting Rose

Personality: Eliza has a condescending, confident nature of a predator sure of their strength. Once a high-class lady, now a sharp toothed monster, Eliza wishes for nothing more than to be seen as she once was. Beautiful, elegant, worthy of admiration and awe. She carries herself with those assumptions and Lurza help those who may contradict them because Eliza is not of forgiving kind. The vampire world is one made of lies and illusions and Eliza is more than happy to play her part. She pays close attention to manners and etiquette even when doing the most monstrous deeds, as even the most gruesome acts must be prettied up and presented in the right way. This doesn’t make her any less of a vampire though. She nurtures a sadistic nature, a love to play with her prey much like a cat, toying with them until the moment she gets bored and devours what is left. When tables are turned and those of higher power start toying with her, fracturs in the mask appear. She has little patience for being talked down to, for her status being questioned or for being dismissed. Such irritations quickly lead to passive aggressiveness and, if uncurbed, vengeful violence. She is a pretty beast but she is still a beast when the chips are down. (Second) life long worshiper of Lurza, Eliza is pretty much a fanatic, hosting parties and sacrificial ceremonies in her goddess’ name. She spares little blood for these events, wanting to get the goddess attention and hoping to be blessed by her. The natural state of decay the vampires find themselves in distresses her greatly, and she hopes that with enough worship her goddess might look upon her kindly, return the beauty she once possessed and grant her eternal salvation from the curse. She cares little if any other vampire gets the same benefit. While seemingly heavily social in nature, Eliza is very much the kind of person who puts herself and her own well being first. In the end this world is a food chain and she is going to make sure she ends up on top of it.

Appearance: There is no such thing as too much. Eliza is a lady of fine society and that is visible in the way she dresses. Full ball gowns, plentiful jewellery and high heels to match are the order of the day. Her signature colors and red and black, with gold accents here and there to spruce up the ensemble. She is quite found of big, hanging earrings and detailed necklaces and collars as it’s incredibly base to show one’s neck in the presence of other vampires. The illusion magic she weaves over herself leaves her hair looking rich and thick and gives somewhat of a blush to her skin, but she is still incredibly pale as there must, after all, be a visible difference between a distinguished vampire and a lowly human. Her real form is something else entirely. Underneath the layers of magic, Eliza is a decrepit, sunken in monster, with sickly, pale pink skin collapsing in waves over her features. Her nails sharp as claws and teeth crooked and stained with blood. Her hair a lifeless mop upon her misshapen head. She considers it better for people to die than to walk away having seen her true form.

Interests: Dancing, music, fashion, gossip

Fears: Break ins, people seeing her true self

Habits and quirks: Sadistic and playful in her manner of speaking, she often talks down to people and ghosts over their opinions entirely if they don’t match hers. She loves great many things and marks each with a special pet name.

Goals: Advance her position in the vampire society and become recognized by her goddess

Lines in the sand: Eliza is the type to go with the flow of almost anything as long as it’s going in her favor. Trouble arises when her authority and class is questioned and when the fact that she’s a relatively low ranked vampire is brought up. Polite society can take a lot, but not mockery. Attempting to reveal, or even just seeing her true for on accident provokes untameable wrath.

Nightmare of the body: Like with all the vampires, Eliza’s observable body is an illusion. A magic trick designed specifically to counter the curse resting on their kind which leaves their bodies decaying. Eliza cannot make her peace with it. She despises her real body and puts extra efforts in always maintaining her illusion, often fiddling with the little details of it. She will wear it socially, but also privately, only breaking effort to keep up the magic when she is absolutely sure nobody will see her for a good amount of time. And even then, she avoids mirrors like a plague and tries not to perceive the way her body looks. Accepting her body the way it is seems like a completely impossible task and one she would rather die than undertake.

#lucy does a write #Sanguine Friday #Duchess Eliza #Sanguinary Waltz #guess what im still sick #life is painful like that #anyway hot scary vampire lady lets goooo

[onedaughterofman]

Untitled vignette #4

Summary: Glowing eyes, sharp fangs, cold breath and thick accent... You know what Papa is.

Pairing: Papa Emeritus x g/n reader.

Tags/warning: Humor. Crack fic. This is an ode to those cringy fics we used to read when we were teens. Please don't kick me out of the fandom.

Under the pale moon, Papa's eyes cast a faint glow. Almost like a feral animal, his blown pupils burn into your body with an intensity capable of shaking you to the core.

Down your spine, the shivers trace a pattern over your skin. It's cold in the Ministry's backyard, and the shadows have made of every corner they room. It's also incredibly silent, only the eerie whisper of the wind breaking the slumber.

"Walk with me, my love."

Papa's commanding voice leaves no room for hesitation. As in a trance, your feet follow him through the stone path without your mind being completely conscious of their movement. The dark tree tops sway and dance to an eternal melody. You wonder if just like the leaves inevitably get tangled in the wind and become one with it, you have no choice but to perform this dance with Papa.

Whether you are trapped in his raw strength or caught in his subtle charm, it doesn't matter. Your hand clings to the arm he offers, nails scratching the soft material of his finely detailed habits.

Bathed by the moon and embraced by the shadows, Papa resembles an apparition, a phantom ready to sink his claws on you and drag you to the underworld.

Is it purgatory your destiny? Or will you rejoice in Hell for eternity? If hell is the answer, you pray to the Dark Lord to let you bring Papa with you.

To be forever, as one, hugged by the eternal flames. What a bliss.

"We are alone," Papa speaks up, musing on his words."Are you scared?"

You are. Much like a mouse trapped between the paws of a playful cat, you feel like he is only leading you to your demise. And worse, you are following him willingly.

"Yes," it's the reply. Papa's pupils burn on your face as he comes to a stop, one eyebrow twitching in a small surprise.

"Why?" He asks, breathless. Hidden by the darkness, his face looks gaunt and sharper. Still, his teeth cast a faint reflection of the moonlight. "You are aware of my feelings for you."

"That's the problem." The sound of your frantic heart muffles the words. "Often I fear your feeling will consume to the core."

"Would that be too bad?" The sharp nails barely graze on your cheekbone. "Wouldn't that be romantic? To get completely undone under my yearning for you."

Standing on the patio, Papa appears to be divine. There's something wrong with him, you know it. You have known it from the beginning, but chose to ignore it in favor of letting yourself fall for his charm.

His deadly, mocking charm. And you lie to yourself every day, ignoring the harsh truth behind devilish appeal.

"We can't keep doing this," you plead with him, turning around to escape his stare. "I can't keep ignoring the warning signs inside my head."

For a long moment, Papa absentmindedly nods. "You have noticed it, then."

Step after step, he moves closer. The grace of his body makes it seem like he's floating down the stone path. When he's behind you, his arms curl on your figure, trapping it.

Your heart jumps inside your chest. Papa doesn't let go, even if you squirm. You have become his prey, and he's an avid, hungry predator, ready to sink his fangs on your tender flesh.

"Say it," Papa commands. Cold air hits the exposed skin of your neck before he tilts his head to press his lips over the same spot. "I need you to say it."

"I know what you are," you gasp. His lips press again on your neck, teeth lightly grazing it.

"Say it."

Swallowing doesn't untie the knot in your throat. You can't speak, for the weight of your accusation might be too heavy for your tongue. Papa isn't a regular man, that's for sure. He is entirely something else. Something far more scary.

"You are…" You begin, trembling. If it weren't for the firm support of his arms, you'd be falling on the ground. "You are…"

The wind stops. In the night, not even the cicadas dare to sing. Papa squeezes tighter, holding his breath

"You are an Italian."

The sudden absence of his body behind yours is cold. You turn around, ready to meet his eyes. And there, a few steps away, he stands. There's surprise on his face, a bitter acceptance mixed with relief.

"Only a part, my love."

It doesn't matter to you. To love a man, an Italian one, is something you are not sure to be able to bear.

Still, when he looks at you full of yearn and the moon falls on him like a veil, it's hard to say no. Papa's extended hand finds yours, and he kisses the back of it in a silent invitation to love him, to stay for eternity.

Fuck. If he's the devil, or worse, you don't care. Everybody carries a curse with them in this world, and this is yours.

Ps: this is what a full day of job hunting does to a mf. I'm rejecting my humanity. I apologize for what you just read. Also, no offense intended towards the Italians.

Well, only a bit of offense 'cause that bureaucracy is personally haunting my ass. Fuck the ASL man. Fuck them

#shitghosting #papa emeritus x reader #dont read this #the author regrets nothing #but still #i need to be put down

[c03xistentw01]

my fav bits from "The Love Poems of Rumi"

i long to revel in the drunken frenzy of your love

I'm sick of mortal kings I want to see your light

i long to see your praises but stand mute with the agony of wishing in my heart

you bewilder us with your grace. all evils transform into goodness

all opposites unite. all that is profane becomes sacred again

i found my dreams but the moon took me away. it lifted me up to the firmament and suspended me there. i saw how my heart had fallen on your path, singing a song.

is it your spirit that has made this brook a river of wine?

you are so easy to find. you are in the breeze

In my vertigo i saw myself as the source of existence. Now I'm sober there is only the hangover and the memory of love and only the sorrow

i can see with closed eyes the beauty that dances behind the veils

"I have lost my senses in my world of lovers"

in my madness i roam the desert

come settle with me, let us be neighbors, to the stars :)

you have always been connected to me, concealed, revealed, in the known, in the unmanifest.

I wait with silent passion for one gesture one glance from you

I have died to myself, and i live for you. I've disappeared from myself, and my attributes. I'm present only for you. I have forgotten all my learnings, but from knowing you I have become a scholar. I have lost all my strength but from your power I am able.

die to the deathless and you will be eternal

in the existence of your love, I have become nonexistent. This nonexistent linked to you is better than all existence.

From trees and blossoms I inhale only your fragrance.

My heart has become a bird which searches in the sky. Every part of me goes in different directions, is it really so that the one i love is everywhere?

..To see you with a hundred eyes...

I am ashamed to call this love human, and afraid of God to call it divine.

I have become your sunshine and also your shadow

I long to kiss every lock of your hair don't fret godfuckingdammityouraresofarawayinsideandout

~ i think both me and Rumi are obsessed with nature

the way it works

the way we see it work

but the love he talks about is so profound and other-worldy

not an overrated terrestrial one like mine ~

you saw me first, it's not fair

like a gazelle locked in an endless net of chains

I saw you come

or not. you saw me

you didn't see my chains, you saw me

anyway i don't remember vividly anymore who saw whom it was ages ago we were young and stupid and it was summer and i was too deep in my own shit and you looked cute as hell when you giggled that day in the hall when we still had to wear masks

but you saw me, you did many times

it took me so long, sadly

to realize my potential of breaking free

of imprisoning myself from the net, from my shit, from "the floating Unpurposely in the deep sea shit"

and so the gazelle became the predator

only that her "prey" was much more liberated than she thought

the day at mensa, the predator saw the prey, the prey saw the predator, the predator saw immense disappointment in the prey seeing the predator, the predator's day was probably ruined as we all know the predator well enough by now

"that's weirdly reassuring" seemed more like "yay i broke free"

I'm carving, desperately scratching the very deep depth of my subconscious memories trying to find you this is sad so sad

I emptied my memories, my loosely reconstructed identity as a probably-non-binary girl, my language, to fill it up with you but damn

you looked already fed up with everything new you could ever teach me

.

from "I am and I am not":

I'm drenched

in the flood

which has yet to come

~

I'm tied up

in the prison

which has yet to exist

~

Not having tasted

a single cup of your wine

I'm already drunk

~

Not having entered

the battlefield

I'm already wounded and slain

~

I no longer

know the difference

between image and reality

~

Like the shadow

I am

and

I am not.

[swtki]

Enemy - E. C

Pairing: Edward Cullen x Vampire! Fem! Reader

Summary: Edward meets his seductress once again

Warnings: Smut, 18+ content, banter between muses, femdom, Sub! Edward, not in an alternate universe just set in the seventies, Volturi! Reader, oral (m), mention of Edward being killed, swearing of course, Vaginal sex, kinda dubcon but not really? Public alley sex.

A/N: Edward smut is hard you mfs better love this.

If he had a working heart, he was sure it would be pounding so loud the whole city could hear. He sat on his balcony, eyes scanning the crowded Paris streets. To find her, the woman who was to destroy him. Alice had warned him just a week ago, her vision being one of chaos and pain. Behind it all, was a womans face. Not just any face however, it was Y/N. A member of the Volturi, whose heart was set on pulling him limb from limb. Everyone in the house had decided it would be best if Edward were to depart from their permanent home, flee to Paris for a short time. He was akin to being alone, but to be alone while watching over your back 24/7 was not the same. While he hated every second of his existence; He knew that if he were to give up and let her kill him, she would surely only continue to his family. He couldn’t let that happen, so he kept moving in the shadows. She wouldn’t move on until she had his head.

He racked his brain, trying to figure out a long term plan as this could only work for so long. She was strong, killing her wouldn’t be easy nor would it be something he wanted to do. Perhaps he could change her mind, he could talk her down from her dedication.

He sighed, walking into the main room and grabbing his jacket.

He needed to eat.

The elevator ride down was slow, and he tapped his finger against his thigh. How he hated human life, but at the same time desired it more than anything. Tedious elevators, the need to eat every single day, the need to sleep. The doors finally slid open, allowing him to walk down the lobby and out of his building.

The street was unusually crowded at this time, the past five days the streets were deserted as soon as the clock struck nine-pm. He couldn’t run to the closest forrest or country plaine, he needed to leave the area before they could see him take off.

So, he started walking. Voices filled his head - the French didn’t try to hold back compared to Americans. Thats when he realized, it was friday night. There were people flooding the streets. More specifically, humans flooding the streets.

“Shit.” He breathed out, knowing that he’d not only have to cancel his meal, but interrupt someone else's. He started walking to the loud music, cursing himself for being this stupid. Who other than Edward Cullen would want to find his potential murderer?

As people danced to the music, he slid toward the bar. He ordered a beer to maintain face amongst the others around him.

“Merci.” He started to turn back to the dancing bodies, but stopped when he heard the order the bartender was receiving.

“Un whisky et un verre de ce champagne.“ The man said, waiting for his drinks to be prepared. Thats when Edward realized. He had ordered champagne. Both the human man and the bartender had thought it was weird someone would order champagne in a club like this. But she always ordered champagne, always. It was what she would tell her victims to order before she took them outside.

He watched the man take the drinks, hoping he was wrong about the partner. He cursed as he realized he wasn’t. She drank, flirted, and of course lured him outside. Throwing some coins on the bartop, he quickly followed. But, he was too late. Her body was flush against the human mans, she was having a bloody good meal. Edward would be lying if he didn’t debate joining her.

“I see you’re still denying your nature.” She pulled off of him, letting the body drop as she stood still.

“I see you’re still wearing red so you don’t need to worry about stains.” He replied. She smiled and turned to him, looking him from head to toe. “I don’t know why you still despise me after all these years, Y/N.” her smile faded.

“Despise you? No, Edward I quite admire you.” She walked over to him and pressed her hand to his shoulder, “I really do think you’re one of the strongest of our kind. You could be stronger, but you suppress yourself. You drink rats blood, while I drink how our kind is meant to. Shame, really.” She walked behind him and her hand wrapped around his neck. He couldn’t move, her powers overtook him. “Imagine the life you and I could lead if you would just submit”. He shuddered at the last word. He was always a sucker for her when it came to seduction and she knew it.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing much. I just want the natural order to be restored.” She smiled and kissed his neck sofly. “Imagine yourself, in Italy with the most powerful of our kind. You could have me every night - for the rest of eternity.” his eyelashes fluttered as she continued kissing his neck. “Do you want to see how good it would feel to be with me every night?”

“Please.” He whimpered. Thats all she needed to release him from her grasp and push him against the dark brick wall. Their lips connected as if they were puzzle pieces, moving in perfect harmony with each other. She pulled away, slithering down on her knees, she was going to make him realize how much he needed her.

“Shall I?” She asked, running her hand up his thigh softly.

“Yes, God, please.” Edward begged, she loved hearing him beg for her touch.

“You always were weak when it came to sex, wonder if you still moan at the smallest, little,” Her hand groped his growing cock. His stomach fluttered with pleasure, and he couldn’t hold his moan, “Touch. Edward, you can read my mind, you can see what I have planned.” He looked inside her head, seeing the pleasure she could inflict upon his body if he would just wave a white flag.

As she took off his trousers, he debated surrendering or not. Was she worth living a life he wanted nothing more than to shun? Every time they saw each other, the sex was electric almost. She made him feel like a prey being hunted by a predator, and he loved that. As much as he hated to admit it, part of the reason he kept turning down the offer was because he didn’t want to ruin the cat and mouse relationship. He knew she loved the chase, that was why she was so persistent. But did he still feel a hatred towards her? Yes. He had seen her slaughter entire groups because she didn’t get her way. But tonight, he decided, he would wave a white flag and lower it once the sun rose.

He snapped back to reality, she hooked her fingers around the waistband of his briefs, looking up at him through her long lashes. He looked down, beginning to place his hands on her head, but was stopped by her pinning him to the wall. Her gift was useful in many situations.

Tugging down, she smiled when his dick was finally isolated. He was all hers tonight, he was painfully hard for her and only her. Her hand grasped the shaft, pumping a few times before licking a long stripe up. He made a moan of pleasure and she rewarded him with taking his length down her throat. She gagged and felt his hips buck, making her withdrawal.

“Wait-” He began.

“No, you broke the rules. What did I tell you about greed, Edward?”

“That it had no place in our sex life.” She smiled and stood, slapping his cheek a few times.

“Dress. We’ll be going to my hotel room, you may not deserve anything, but I do.” He rushed to pull up his pants and follow her.

She pushed him down on the bed as soon as the door was shut, lifting her dress up, she straddled him.

“Imagine, you agree and this is every night for the rest of our time.” Pulling down his pants she spat on her hand and guided him to her slick cunt. He slid in with ease, making her eyes roll into her skull. He could hear her mind scramble as she slowly rocked her hips. “Feel so fucking good, shame you have to be so fucking stupid.”. He was sure if he had blood he would have just bitten it and bled out. She was so fucking hot, watching her nails dig into his firm stomach. He adored her from this angle, especially when she didn’t even bother to to take her clothes off.

“Can I touch you, please?” She smiled and nodded, letting his hand move so his thumb could skillfully rub her clit, making the coil in her stomach tighten. Her movements got faster, and he heard her mind beg for more. He slightly lifted his hips while continuing his fingers. Her orgasm washed over her, causing her to scream out in pure bliss. She stopped her hips, swinging her leg over his body and straightening her dress. He looked at her in confusion, he still hadn’t cum.

“You can cum when you agree to join me. I had my fun, now leave.” She said coldly. He pulled his pants back up, stumbling back to the apartment he had spent every night and day in. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider saying yes to her.

As long as it was her

—

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#edward cullen fanfiction #edward cullen x reader smut #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen smut #headcannons twilight #twilight smut #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson smut #edward cullen fanfic

[little-diable]

Anxiety leaves her quivering - Jasper Hale (smut)

Request by @sweatyhandsduckhoagie I was thinking, her and Jasper are making out and the major makes an appearance ( 1st time in front of her) and scares her, so she wants to stop and leaves the house! She avoids Jasper for a few days and then goes back to the house and her and Jasper talk....ends with them trying again and they end up having sex. Just cute and fluffy at the end! 

Hope this is what you had in mind, I think this is one of my favorite Jasper smuts. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: the major scares the reader, but Jasper is hell bent on apologizing and maybe a sweet apology turns into something more. 

Warnings: smut, 18+, angst in the beginning 

The kiss turned sloppier with every passing moment, (y/n) was placed in his lap, thighs pressed against his, arms slung around his neck. Both had been tangled like this for a few minutes by now, savoring their privacy as the rest of the Cullens were out of the house. He felt the warm and content feeling spreading through her, soft moans spilled from her swollen lips, awakening something deep inside of him.

Jasper could feel himself fading, switching places with the major, though he tried to fight against it, he knew that he wouldn’t stand a chance against him. He moved his lips to her jaw, slowly he began to suck a few marks into her skin, eyes turning into a darker shade, nothing she had noticed until now. 

“So gorgeous, you’re mine darlin’, all mine”, his accent sounded thicker than ever, ripping her out of her bubble as his fangs grazed her skin. “Jas’”, the uneasy feeling that swapped over her, urged him on, like a predator that was hunting after his scared prey.

“Now that's not what you should call me, is it?”, (y/n) pressed her palms against his chest, trying to rip herself out of his tight grip, wondering what he was playing at. “What? Jasper?”, a nervous chuckle spilled from her lips, “you should call me major from now on”. (Y/n) struggled in his hold, shifting in his lap, panicked eyes watching his every move, heads whipping towards the door as Alice and Edward stumbled into the house, praying that Alice’s vision had only deceived her.

That one moment was enough for (y/n) to shuffle out of his arms, to grasp her bag and run out of the mansion, not noticing how Jasper switched personalities once again, honey colored, golden eyes finally returning.

(Y/n) would avoid Jasper for days, hiding away from him in the hallways, not sparing him one glance as he’d beg her to talk to him. Her heart felt heavy, it was calling out to him, she terribly missed him, but the anxiety stuck with her, remainders of the scary moment still ran through her veins. “Darlin’?”, Jasper was standing next to her, hands interlaced in front of him, fighting against the urge to touch her, he didn’t want to fuck up once again.

Her eyes momentarily grew wider, visibly gulping as she took a step backwards, “please, let me explain, please darlin’”, his voice broke with every word he spoke, venom pooled in his eyes. Her insides were burning, bile rose in the back of her throat, her body was aching for him, a small “okay”, spilled from her lips ere she could stop herself, instantly a smile tugged on his lips, there was still at least a bit of hope for them.

Jasper took her home that day, driving in the same car, hands finding their way to her knee, slowly tracing the fabric of her jeans, finally he felt at ease, like he hadn’t fucked up, like he hadn’t lost control. (Y/n) had known for quite a while, that Jasper and the Cullens were special to say the least, a few weeks back he had told her everything about them, their eternal lives, the daily fight against their primal instincts, but not once had he told her about the major, his sick and twisted self.

It took her a few moments to wrap her head around the fact that he basically had two different personas, switching between them as his primal side would gain the upper hand. “I’m so sorry, I never wanted to scare you or hurt you”, the words made her smile, (y/n) cupped his cheeks, crawling into his lap, “it’s okay, thank you for telling me”.

She attached her lips to his, falling back down on the soft mattress, dipping under their weight as he hovered above her, lips not leaving hers once. A fire was spreading through her veins, she wanted him, wanted all of him, no matter how scared (y/n) had been the last time, she knew that he’d take care of her, he wouldn’t hurt her, she was sure of it. “Darlin’”, Jaspers raspy voice shot shivers up her spine, he moved away from her, scared that he’d take it too far, it felt like a déjà-vu, repeating itself like days ago.

“I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me”, (y/n) nibbled on his jawline, hands combing through his golden locks, “I-”, Jasper’s eyes fluttered close, fighting an internal battle, wondering if he should give in, if he’d manage to keep the upper hand, pushing the major into the far back of his mind. “Please”, she pressed on, hands toying with the first buttons of his dark shirt, (y/e/c) eyes teasing him with every passing second.

A growl rumbled through him, cold hands disappearing underneath her shirt, ripping the fabric off her frame, golden eyes admiring the skin he had wanted to touch for weeks by now. “You’re so gorgeous darlin’”, she felt her cheeks burn, “don’t go all shy on me now”, his smirk made her giggle, the sound turned into a moan as soon as Jasper attached his lips to the soft skin of her boobs, hands moving along her sides, finding the bra clasp.

“Are you sure? We can stop any-”, (y/n) silenced him with another kiss, “I want you, all of you”. Her bra found its way down to the floor, jeans and panties soon following as Jasper took off his own clothes, “relax”, he rasped out, kissing his way to her aching core, walls clenching around nothing, begging for something, to finally feel him inside of her. His hands trailed up her body, softly cupping her boobs, squeezing a bit tighter, thumbs flicking over her hard nipples, god, he definitely knew where to touch her.

His cold fingers danced down to her inner thighs, tracing along her wet folds, softly pressing them into her heat, coaxing a high pitched moan out of her swollen lips. 

“Oh god Jas, feels so good”, he smirked against her skin as he kissed her hip bones, thumb circling her clit just enough to push her down the rabbit hole she wouldn’t find her way out for a long time. Jasper began to build a steady rhythm, fingers perfectly stretching her, thumb adding just the right pressure, god, he’d love to stay down there forever, teasing her, till she’d cum over and over again on his cold fingers.

“Stop”, her groan made him freeze, “I need you inside of me”, (y/n) arched her back, hands blindly searching for him, tugging on his wrists, eyes falling to his aching length. “You can always tell me to stop”, he reminded her, slapping her hand away as she tried to touch his member, “later, I don’t want to wait any longer darlin’”.

His cold touch had chills roll through her spine, pulling her under like a wave of ice cold water, knocking all air out of her lungs as she’d slowly drown in the ocean. “Jas”, she felt pathetic, whining like that, but she couldn’t stop herself, her body was aching to get conquered by him, to get lost in those beautiful eyes of his as he’d make sweet love to her. Just as another plea would roll off her tongue he had pushed himself into her heat, length engulfed by her tightness, walls constricting around him, struggling to adjust.

A few ‘oh gods’ and ‘fucks’ would stumble out of the both of them, “move, please”, (y/n) moaned into his ear, hands moving up his spine, trying to find anything to hold onto, trying to pierce her nails into his shoulders. (Y/n)s heart was rapidly beating, Jaspers hips would meet hers, getting faster with every thrust of his, “feels like you were made for me darlin’”, the words made her smile, forehead pressed against his, choking out a few breaths.

(Y/n)s head fell back as a sob crawled up her throat, she curled her toes, high on the wave of lust he brought upon her. “Please, Jas’”, she wasn’t quite sure what she was begging for, but no other words made it past her lips, too focused on the sensations he provided her with, the love she felt for him. He kept on slamming his hips against hers, rough enough to bring her closer to the edge, but not enough to leave bruises behind, careful not to hurt her in any way.

She never wanted to be touched like that by any other man ever again, she was his, his alone, only he’d get to make love to her like that, able to bring her orgasm upon her with a few thrusts, lips nibbling on hers, hands placed on the mattress, steading his broad frame. “I’m so close”, (y/n) choked out, eyes closed as she moved one hand down to her slightly enlarged clit, softly rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves, adding to the building pressure.

“Let go darlin’, it’s alright”, Jasper mused, eyes not leaving her features, smiling to himself as her orgasm rocked through her, walls clenching and unclenching around him, the knot in her belly snapped in apart, release wrecking her, leaving her panting and moaning. 

She felt his warmth spread through her, freezing above her as he gave into his orgasm, “fuck I love you”, Jasper growled, kissing her one last time before he pulled out of her, instantly wrapping his arms around her quivering frame. “I love you too”, she smiled at him, thanking her lucky stars for bringing Jasper into her life, she was truly made for him.

#Jasper Hale #Jasper Hale imagine #Jasper Hale smut #major jasper whitlock #Jasper Hale x reader #twilight #twilight smut #twilight imagine #Jackson Rathbone

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Lady Dimitrescu x female reader 💋

• Warnings: adult content, erotica, vampirism, blood, mild horror elements, sapphic love.

glass angel, part VIII.

The winter sky darkened, forming a little capsule around Lady Dimitrescu’s domain, where a never-ending blizzard blurred the edges between night and day. The grandfather clock would hum a somber tune at midnight, and that was the only sound permeating the castle. With each day passing you received less visits from the servants, and you’ve not seen the lady of the house at all. Yet miraculously, in your quiet little solitude you begun to regain your body’s strength and your mind's clarity.

No injuries threatened the softness of your youthful skin. You found comfort in the vanity’s mirror each time you’d see your own reflection looking back at you with a healthy glow in once hollowed cheeks. Yet you never seemed to gather enough courage to step into that terrifying maze of halls. At least, not until you heard soft music playing on what sounded like an old gramophone. The gentle cry of vinyl beckoned you, and mesmerized, you followed its call into the dark, endless corridors. Barefoot and weightless, you swayed faintly to the mysterious tune. A dim light flickered at the end of the halls – it was a small balcony which overlooked a wide Victorian room below.

Much like the scent of roses, or Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze, the music seemed to slither beneath your skin, effortlessly taking control over your body’s movements. Your arms stretched as if pulled by a puppeteer’s invisible threads, and you embraced a marble pillar as you leaned over the banister. Strands of velvet hair fell over your bare shoulder, framing your beautiful features as you peered down into a pair of striking citrine eyes. The mistress was seated on a luxurious sofa, with a glass of that peculiar dark red wine in her hand.

You were inebriated by the sight of her.

Whatever promises you’ve made to yourself that you’d fight against her ghastly charms were lost to the blizzard now. Her sultry gaze followed you as you gracefully descended the spiraling flight of stairs and approached her. In the glow of so many lamps, you could see the paradox of her aged and yet eternally-youthful skin, with subtle wrinkles in the paleness of her features. The Devil was tempting you.

You sat on the armrest of the sofa and touched the silk of her dress. She tilted her head elegantly as your fingertips glided like water down her arm, slowly, until you had your much smaller palm cupped around her wine glass. All she did was silently observe as you moved to the rhythm of the music and took the chalice from her large hand. In its place, you offered your throat.

“Frumoasa mea… Hai la mine…”

My beauty… come to me…

Your head fell back obediently as she laid you across her plentiful thighs; you sunk into the warmth of her lap, soft and defenseless like a thornless rose. Her murmurs caressed your supple jaw as she leaned over you, holding you up with one strong arm whilst the other’s palm cupped your rosy cheek. Raven claws faintly touched your skin, tracing the delicate curve of your neck to the plumpness of your chest. Quiet sighs left your lips as you felt large fingers pulling the fabric of your nightgown loose and cupping your breast. A thumb’s soft touch lingered on your healing wound, admiring.

“My sweet angel, look at you…”

Vampiric whispers pooled hotly at the crook of your neck, where red lips lingered with slow, hungry kisses.

“…healed already.”

Unable to resist your own erotic desires, you arched into that sensual touch, silently imploring. Thin silk piled around your navel, leaving your upper half completely bare for the temptress to lust on. Her mouth slow-danced along the supple curves of your mounds, dipping in between them with slow caresses of her velvet tongue. Sharp talons traced the plush edges of your waist and hips, waking your innermost sinful needs. You were pliable in her arms, a beautiful puppet ready to be devoured. Red lipstick adorned your pillowy breasts and throat with beautiful flower shapes that soon began to bleed.

A darting pain suddenly suffocated you. That sultry mouth you’ve dreamt of was latched to your wild pulse, with razor teeth digging deep within the layers of your warm flesh. Rivulets of crimson flooded your chest, pooling heavily into the soft dips of your clavicle. Your mouth was agape, yet no sound found its way out of your throat whilst the predator’s jaws held it. All you could do was feebly struggle against those impossibly strong arms as they cradled you in a slumber of death.

A gloved hand generously begun to caress your bare womanly mounds, keeping you suspended in that devilish mix of ache and pleasure. You could feel life being drained from your veins and yet, under Lady Dimitrescu’s malevolent spell, your body yearned for more.

“Ah…”

The softest cry echoed off your lips as they became desaturated from the abrupt loss of blood. Large knuckles caressed your cheek in silent worship as that beastly maw lessen its deathly grip. Red rivers flowed abundantly from the gaping wound on your throat and you quivered, suddenly cold. Not a single bead of scarlet escaped the Lady’s hungry mouth. Her tongue skillfully dried those rivers, reminding you just how good it felt to be her prey.

The pain,

The euphoria…

*part IX.

-          To be continued…

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu fanfic #lady dimitrescu #alcina x reader #countess alcina #alcina dimitrescu #lesbian love #lesbian fanfic #sapphic love #vampire fanfiction #vampire

[omnivoroussmut]

Your Majesty

Summary: When Deckard gets all dressed up, Luke finds it difficult to keep his hands to himself

Tags: Semi-public sex, anal sex, anal plug, cum play, dirty talk, rough sex, Luke calling Deckard princess, Deckard wearing a dress

Rating: 18+

Deckard took a small sip from his champagne glass and looked around the ballroom. The place was filled with people dressed to the nines in suits and gowns, creating a crowd of lavish and posh looking people swirling around each other with fake smiles on their faces. He had been to many functions like this, usually trying to steal as much as he could from the rich arseholes that surrounded him. But, tonight was not the case.

           Instead, he was on a mission with Luke to stop an assassination attempt on the prime minister of a small country. How he had been pulled into this, Deckard wasn’t quite sure, but he wasn’t complaining.

           After all, he got to wear one of his favorite dresses.

           The dress was a rich, deep red silk. It was strapless and hugged his body perfectly and showed off his shoulders. However, it cinched at his waist to flow outwards to create a large bell around him. It was a classic ballgown that swayed with his every movement and helped to hid his slimmer hips. With the dress, he wore black, silk gloves that came up to his elbows but did nothing to stop his muscles from being on full display. Along with that, he was wearing a silk wrapping around his head and diamond earrings that dangled, almost brushing his bare shoulders. He had applied the barest amount of eyeshadow, but had made his lips the same red as his dress.

           Deckard was normally not a vain person, but he knew he looked beautiful in this dress. He had pulled out all the stops to make sure he was stunning. So much so, men and women alike had stopped to ask him to dance, and when he agreed to with a select few, he hadn’t been surprised they wanted to lead. Any excuse to have their hands all over him and pull him close to them.

           He didn’t mind in the slightest, especially when he could feel eyes on him the whole time he was swirled around the dance floor. No matter where he went, he could feel someone staring at him, almost as if they wanted to bore holes into him. However, instead of putting him on edge, Deckard felt excitement run down his spin at the thought of who was staring at him.

           Ever since Deckard had gotten dressed at home, Luke couldn’t keep his hands or off of him. When they had arrived at the party, Deckard could see the raw lust and want in Luke’s eyes as they parted to be able to keep an eye on the prime minister.

           Smirking to himself, he knew there was another reason Luke wanted to get his hands on him. Shifting from one foot to the other, Deckard had to bite his lip from making any sort of noise as the plug inside him shifted ever so slightly and pushed even harder on his prostate. Along with the plug, he could feel cum still stuck inside of him.

           When Deckard had laid out his outfit for the party, he had been surprised to have strong hands grip his hips and bend him over the bed. Luke had taken him hard and fast, whispering all sorts of filth in his ear as he thrusted as deep as he could inside Deckard. It hadn’t taken long for both of them to cum and for Deckard to be filled. As Luke had pulled out, Deckard had scrambled for the special plug he had made for occasions like this one.

           The plug inside him was large enough to keep him prepped for Luke’s cock, and was a shiny gold that had sparkled brilliantly in the light before Deckard had pushed it inside of himself. And finally, the flared end had was topped with a red jewel that peeked out of from between Deckard’s cheeks. Deckard hadn’t told Luke if it was a real ruby or not.

           Just thinking of their short round before the party had Deckard’s cock twitching in interest and he couldn’t be more grateful that the dress was so poofy that it hid the obvious erection he’s had for most of the party. The looks Luke was sending him were so heated, Deckard’s imagination was going haywire with all the things he wanted Luke to do to him.

           Taking another small sip from his champagne, Deckard placed it down on a nearby table and made his way out of the ballroom. He desperately wanted to deal with his erection if he was supposed to keep dealing with all these dull, rich idiots.

           Stepping into the bathroom, Deckard took a moment to look over his makeup in the mirror and was pleased to see it was still in perfect shape. Busy looking at himself, Deckard didn’t bother checking who had come into the bathroom when the door closed shut. He would just be quiet or wait until they left to do anything.

           “Do you know what the fuck you’re doing to me?” A low growl filled the lavish room and Deckard nearly moaned. Glancing over, Deckard saw Luke standing with his hands balled at his side and snarling at him. His pupils were blown wide and he reminded Deckard of a predator zeroing in on its prey.

           “I can only imagine, love.” Deckard purred and winked at him.

           His words had the desired reaction as Luke stormed up to him and grabbed one of his wrists. Not resisting at all, Deckard let himself be dragged into the largest stall and be thrown face first towards a wall. Before he could turn around, he was roughly shoved right back against the cool tile with a large hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Hot breath ghosted against his ear and Luke’s hips thrusted harshly against his ass. It was impossible not to feel how hard the larger man was.

           “You are the worst tease around, Deck.” Luke growled into his ear and grabbed his hips in a crushing grip. Deckard knew he would be finding large bruises later that night. “You just let anyone touch you and dance with you. Would you let them bend you over and fuck you in front of everyone, too?”

           “No!” Deckard whined and wiggled in Luke’s grip.

           “Oh, really? Because the way I saw it, you were practically begging for someone to put you in your place.” Luke took one of his hands away from Deckard’s hip and reached back to grab his ass instead. He seemed to know exactly where every inch of Deckard was as he rubbed his fingers between Deckard’s cheeks. A finger shoved between them and push down on the jeweled end of the plug. “You wouldn’t have this inside you if you weren’t expecting a good dicking tonight. Is that all you need? A large cock inside of you? Tell me, princess.”

           As Luke growled into his ear, Deckard was a moaning mess. He couldn’t move away from the wall at all, completely trapped by Luke’s bulk and could only weakly claw at the tile. Words were completely lost to him as he whined and whimpered as Luke pushed harder on the plug inside him.

           “P-please!” He was finally able to choke out. He needed Luke so bad!

           “Hmph. Look at you.” Luke whispered, nosing along Deckard’s neck and leaving small kisses on his skin. “I’ve barely done anything to you and you’re already so desperate.”

           Deckard could only nod in response and nearly cried in relief as Luke took his hand off the plug. Instead, Luke started to grab up Deckard’s dress and pull it up. The several layers under the dress bunched up and Deckard chuckled at the annoyed sound Luke let out as he tried to hold up the dress.

           “Damnit, Deck! Couldn’t you have worn something less complicated?”

           “Where would the fun be in that, love?” Deckard purred and didn’t offer any assistance. Luke merely grumbled and finally was able to bunch up the dress enough to reveal Deckard’s ass to the cool air. Moaning, Deckard thrust his ass out and wiggled it. He needed Luke inside him right now!

           He could feel Luke’s fingers toying with the plug, just barely catching his rim and wiggling it inside him. Whimpering, Deckard could only wait as Luke finally grabbed the plug and slowly pulled it out of him. As it slid out of him, a whine was drawn out of him as Luke’s cum from earlier started to trickle out of him.

           “Look at you,” Luke chuckled. “You’re already so full but you want so much more.”

           “Get on with it!” Deckard hissed.

           “Oh, don’t worry, princess. I’ll make sure you’ll be stuffed full.”

           Deckard shivered at Luke’s words and couldn’t wait any longer. A sharp gasp left his lips as he felt Luke’s cock rub against his rim and the head pushed inside. Deckard leaned his cheek on the tile in front of him and tried to take deep breathes as Luke slowly pushed all the way inside. No matter how many times they fucked, Deckard was always shocked by just how large Luke was. By far the largest partner he’s ever had.

           After what felt like an eternity, Luke bottomed out and Deckard could feel his balls resting on his ass. Breathing harshly, Deckard could only imagine what they looked like. Him pushed up against a wall, dress flipped up to let Luke ram his cock into him, still fully clothed. No doubt Luke still looked the part of a proper gentleman, while Deckard must have looked absolutely debauched. He couldn’t help but shake in pleasure at the knowledge that they would both step out of there, fully presentable again, with nobody the wiser that they had just fucked. Just the idea of possibly being caught had Deckard on the edge and he pushed back on Luke’s cock in need.

           “Please!”

           “Anything for you, princess.” Luke kissed the back of his neck and pulled out so only the head of his cock was left inside. “Try not to be too loud.”

           With that final warning, Luke thrust back with all his strength and Deckard saw stars. His body was pushed into the wall and he knew he was going to be sore for days afterwards, but couldn’t care less. Not when Luke was letting go for once and giving him what he wanted.

           Luke’s thrust forced Deckard to be on his tip-toes nearly lifted him off them each time he pounded into him. Every thrust seemed to knock the breath out of Deckard and he didn’t seem to be able to scream the way he wanted to. The force Luke was using was overwhelming and all Deckard could do was desperately hold onto the wall and hope he could walk after this. He was starting to doubt he could.

           Strong hands had found their way to his hips again and Deckard knew for certainty bruises would stay for days after this. It wasn’t often Luke used his full strength in bed, but when he did, Deckard couldn’t be anymore thankful. He couldn’t move an inch in Luke’s grip and was forced to take every single powerful thrust as his cheek scrapped against the wall. Tears were running down his face as the pleasure grew and grew. Every thrust was landing on his prostate and Deckard knew he couldn’t last for much longer.

           “Luke!” He whimpered. He was so close.

           “Come on, princess.” Luke grunted as his thrusts started to grow more erratic. “Cum for me!”

           Deckard didn’t need any more encouragement.

           A hand closed around his mouth as he opened it to scream, but Deckard barely noticed that as Luke kept fucking him through his orgasm. Each thrust brought him to a new height of pleasure until his vision turned white. After a few moments, Deckard blinked and whined as he felt Luke still thrusting into him, his cock seeming to set his nerve endings on fire.

           “Luke! Too much!” Deckard mewled.

           “Shh, just a little longer, princess.” Luke panted and kissed his neck. True to his word, it only took a few more thrusts before he shoved himself as deep as he could inside Deckard and was spilling inside him. It felt as if Deckard was being branded from the inside and purred at the idea of Luke marking him as his, even for a short while.

           They stood there together, leaning against each other as Luke started to slowly deflate inside Deckard. Legs weak, Deckard could only wait as Luke kept him steady and on his feet. After a few minutes, he felt Luke pull out and he whined in disappointment.

           “Hush, princess. You won’t be empty for long.” Luke smiled against his neck. He was right as Deckard jolted at the feeling of cold metal nudging at his rim. Moaning, Deckard threw his head back as the plug slid back inside him and trapped whatever cum that didn’t escape and running down his thighs at that moment. A large finger traced around the flared top again and caused Deckard to shiver. He was always so sensitive afterwards.

           “Here, hold this up so I can clean you up.” Luke told him. Shakily, Deckard held up his dress and felt Luke wiping at his thighs. In only a few short minutes, Deckard was clean again and ready for the rest of the party.

           Letting his dress fall to his feet, Deckard smoothed his hands down the dress as Luke tucked himself back into his pants. Without a word, they stepped out of the stall and Deckard went to work on his makeup. He knew he should have worn his waterproof eyeliner. When he was finished, he looked up to see Luke sending him a goofy smile.

           “What?”

           “It’s just nice knowing that while you dance with all those shmucks out there, my cum is inside you.”

           Face a deep red, Deckard glared at the other man before shoving him out of the way and out to the party again. Hopefully nobody would notice his slight limp.

#smut #shobbs #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #hobbs and shaw #omni writes

[settersloveletters]

NO. 1 FAN

• part sixteen; just endurance training

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⤷ y/n will always go out of her way for her family, especially for her 7 year old niece, who happens to be kageyama tobio’s number one fan. what happens when the charming sweetheart, y/n, meets the emotionally null, kageyama tobio? and what happens when those two fall in love at first sight?

a/n: its here.. ENDING is ambiguous. ill leave it up to those big imaginations yall have 🧠 hahaha. IDK IF THIS IS TOO OOC. whatever ill justify it by saying “adult kags is mature and horny and knows what hes dooing hahsjej. also likes to dirty talk im sure of it 🤗🤩😋

[!] under is written smut which is not important to the story, sorta, kinda [!]

➳ word count: 1.5k

➳ warnings: smut, but nothing too crazy; hand job, praise kink (kageyama recieving), cum eating?! is there a proper word for that lool

Wow, he’s really hot. Not that that’s new news, but here he is, in your small living room, freshly showered with damp hair in the comfiest loungewear. After all the commotion -- trying to fix the car only to decide on letting him sleepover, setting up a comfortable sleeping place for him, and of course, not trying to embarrass yourself on countless occasions -- you two now rest.

“Hey, wanna watch something?” you suggest as the two of you sit on the couch, a TV perched on the cabinet across from you. Even though you two sit at least three feet apart, you feel his body heat emanating and he hears your heart beating a mile a minute. It’s weird, you two are usually so normal and casual, able to converse and talk, but why is it so different right now.

“Sure, you can choose.”

“Romcom? Oh, or maybe this documentary. Wait no, I actually like this movie,” indecisively you scroll through the library of movies. “That one,” Kageyama says in such an alluring tone that has your finger slipping, the chosen movie is now beginning.

Minutes in, it might be your mind playing games, but the distance between you has become smaller and smaller, and before you know it your hips are touching. You feel every rise of his chest when he breathes and he feels every time you jump or squirm against him. And to be honest, the movie is getting deathly boring when your eyes would much rather feast upon the man beside you, his toned arms and big hands. You’re almost so tempted to touch them, compare them to your own, interlock both your fingers.

“Are you even watching the movie?” Kageyama scoffs, and when you get a better look at his face, you see the small rosy tinge that covers his cheeks. “Yes, I am. Are you?” leaning into him even further, your body acts before your mind can think. You give him a peck on his cheek. It’s not like you two have never kissed before, but this feels new, fresh, exhilarating.

“I am, for your information. Unlike you, staring at me like you’re the predator and I’m the prey,” he looks you dead in the eyes, deep blue engulfing you. He’s letting you know the nature of the relationship; he is no prey.

Gently grabbing the back of your neck, Kageyama pulls you into a kiss, lips touching and sending pleasurable jolts across your body. The distant movie playing has drowned out in the background as your heavy breathing and heartbeats fill the room. You even let out the tiniest of whimpers that shoot straight down to his cock. His other hand begins to wander, until it settles around the small of your waist, pulling you up onto his lap.

You two spend an eternity, his touch constantly rubbing along your body, your fingers twirling around his hair, and your lips and tongues dancing with each other. With your legs straddling his, you don’t shy away from giving an experimental grind against his clothed erection.

“Hm,” his moan is muffled in your interlocked lips. You pull off, looking him in his eyes, all clouded and gasping for air. There’s something tantalizing about the thought of being the one to seduce Japan’s top young athlete. Seeing the young star in front of you, lips red and swollen from all the kissing and almost begging to be touched. It has you quivering at the knees. This is Kageyama Tobio..

“Ha, I didn’t think you’d.. Baby, let’s take it slow, yeah?” you tell him, slipping the cute pet name in which has him pulling you in closer to him.

“Of course. To be honest, I don’t know how much of you I can handle at once,” he looks down at you, jabbing at your usual boldness and forwardness. You can tell he’s nervous. “I should be saying that to you,” you sigh, hands grabbing onto the formed tent in his sweatpants that has you too excited. He’s big.

“So, why don’t we just touch today,” you give him a reassuring smile, giving his cock another squeeze that has him moaning aloud again. Kageyama just simply looks at you and gives a nod in response. He’s embarrassed at his own voice, but to you, it sounds like heaven. You don’t hesitate in lowering the waistband of his pants and boxers, letting the heat of his cock expose itself. Looking at it has you biting your lower lip and shifting in his lap. You wrap your hands around his girth, feeling heavy in your hands as the thick veins tickle the pads of your fingers. You stroke his shaft, listening to the way he audibly gasps and groans under your ministrations. Your fingertip rubs along the head, picking up the drop of precum, allowing you to give him a more satisfying jerk.

“Do that, that felt good,” he breaths out. You pick up the repetitive motions as you feel the surface of his cock heating up, and the unsuppressed sounds spilling from his mouth. The sweet clicks of your strokes has you desperate for more, desperate to pleasure him more. Boldly, you spit onto the head of cock, slicking him up and quickening the pace. Kageyama lets out a needy noise that has your insides trembling and panties uncomfortably wet.

He likes the attention, you know it. He loves being able to openly receive this love from you, no matter how foreign or new it is to him. This thrill Kageyama feels has him aching for more. His hands grasp onto the legs that sit on his lap, squeezing the soft exposed flesh of your skin. His mind goes wild imagining what lies beneath those tight shorts you purposely wore to seduce him, what you’d look like all exposed just for him. He’s not usually this dirty minded, but you’ve always managed to pull out the craziest things from him.

“What are you thinking about, baby?” you ask with your innocent and calming voice, totally contrasting the lewd hands that continue to rub at his cock.

“I’m thinking about a lot of things..”

“Like what my panties look like?”

You will be the death of him, he swears. Before he can even respond or react, you’re already removing your shorts, showing him the delicate black fabric underneath that leaves oh so little to the imagination. Kageyama is brazen and confident on the court, but in the intimacy of right now, you have to be in control of the game. Straddling him again, you continue where you left off, bringing him closer to his release with your hand, kissing along his jaw and neck. “I won’t leave marks, don’t worry.”

“I don’t mind,” he manages to say through his pants. Without hesitation, you leave the tiniest mark on the side of his neck. The thought of tainting his perfect skin has you moaning against him, only egging him further to completion. His cock twitches in your hands, which has you stroking him faster.

“C’mon baby, you can cum anytime. You’ve been so good to me,” praising him, Kageyama looks directly into your eyes, face gone red, eyes hooded with uncontrollable lust as he groans aloud at your words. He likes it. “You’re so hot, baby. Cock’s so hard just for me,” his breathing gets heavier. “Gonna cum soon? Do it. Be good and cum all o-” He suddenly grabs both your wrists in his hand, stopping you from doing or saying anything else.

“Get on your fucking knees.”

You weren’t expecting that at all, which has you smirking and doing exactly what he says. Getting off his lap, you settle on the ground in front of him. You watch Kageyama intently as he stands right in front of you, cock in his dominant hand. He rubs himself, shallow jerks near the head of his big cock, with his other hand resting itself at the back of your head.

“I’m about to.. Can I?” his gasps get louder as he reaches the brink of climax. You stick your tongue out, a nice distance away from him, willing to accept all the love he has to offer. You admire the way his cock stills, and with a moan that has you throbbing, spurts of his cum land in your mouth. White ropes paint your tongue and face as Kageyama looks down at you, gasping for breath. You swallow his seed, all while never breaking your eye contact.

The movie has been long done, leaving you two alone in the now quiet room. Your thighs rub together, still in need for his touch even though he looks utterly exhausted. “You wanna sleep now, baby?” you simply say as he pulls his pants up, adjusting his now softening cock. Kageyama grabs a small cloth from his bag and begins wiping your face clean.

“No,” he discards the cloth and picks you up bridal style, walking you two to your bedroom. “It’s not that late. And, I still think I have a lot to learn..”

“Don’t you have practice tomorrow morning?”

“This is just endurance training.”

- TAGLIST -

@anhphunnnn | @adamarvv | @asahiswaifu | @fangirling-25-8 | @kei-kui | @lilacshouko | @smol-enbybackup | @gyubit17 | @renee1414 | @denkiwenki | @xanaxdeity | @cuddlesslut | @nikkipea | @lovemesomehwa | @muiyuuuu | @oikawalmart-hq | @mirdy47707 | @lumiriai | @notamazinglizzy | @starwrite-er | @dearkags | @hamsterfan17 | @sugawsites | @anime-simp | @singleandlonely | @levisackerwoman | @cactuski6 | @kingkagss | @gentlechainsaws | @h0wab0utw3d0ntd0that | @prettymuchboo | @highlyanxiousintroverted | @anna-pcy21 | @sweetlysugawara | @yqshirov | @kingkags | @marifujioka | @luna-barnes14 | @musekala | @thechaosoflonging | @oikawasphlatass | @tremendousglitterthing | @kathya420 | @daninaninani | @maii-flowers | @akakuzumo | @tycrackculture | @gaychemicalwater | @mariachiii | @kiyoomile | @jaxneedshelp | @xs-hoodie | @preparingtofall |

(taglist continues in the replies!!)

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #kageyama smau #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio #kageyama smut #no.1 fan #bad hours #admin kae

[myremains]

Ice Nine Kills - The Silver Scream 2: Welcome To Horrorwood

Tracklist:

Opening Night…

Welcome To Horrorwood

A Rash Decision

Assault & Batteries

The Shower

Funeral Derangements

Rainy Day

Hip to Be Scared (Ft. Jacoby Shaddix)

Take Your Pick (ft. Corpsegrinder of Cannibal Corpse) 

The Box (Ft. Brandon Saller & Ryan Kirby)

F.L.Y. (Ft. Buddy Nielsen) 

Wurst Vacation

Ex-Mørtis

Farewell II Flesh

Oh good God have I been waiting for what feels like an eternity for this. I fell in love with Ice Nine Kills back with Every Trick In The Book, they wrote songs about some of the greatest novels and they really made something special with it. What do they do then? (Bare in mind they already released 3 albums before that the last 2 of which were amazing in their own right) they do it all over again with Horror movies in The Silver Scream, which was one of the greatest albums to have ever been created, and by God they have milked that titty for everything it's worth and it is still providing! I myself have spent about £200 on their merch because they’ve produced an absolute goldmine of phenomenal designs and have really targeted me with it for my love of horror films and serial killers. So when they announce that every good horror film has a sequel and this is theirs, I did a little dance and squeal when they announced The Silver Scream 2: Welcome To Horrorwood.

“Hip To Be Scared” guest stars Papa Roach’s charismatic frontman Jacoby Shaddix and by God what an absolute belter it is, I have not stopped singing the chorus line to myself for over a week, “The Devil makes exceptions, for all American Psychos'' (not hard to see which story they’re utilising here is it) but it's got a flash 80’s section which talks about themselves as a band before dropping the beatdown in a traditional brutal INK style. Oh then they came out swinging with “Assault & Batteries”, not holding any punches it’s one of the heaviest songs I’ve ever heard them drop, clearly based on Chucky, opens up with a news report, followed by a chat show, then a creepy kids toy sounding interlude that explodes into a truly sinister and aggressive mix which I feel like brings in some style from their old sound, amazingly addictive same as its predecessor. Then dropped “Rainy Days” which has brandished on its single cover the Resident Evil umbrella which already tipped the peak of interest, starts off very industrial sounding, reminiscent slightly of the likes of Motionless In White if you could picture it, for me the best parts are the robotic synthesised human vocals particularly towards the end “GAME OVER… You Died”, that has sat with me so deeply since I first heard it, it encaptures the sinister nature of the narrative and it gives me goosebumps at certain points. “Funeral Derangements” came next and I have to say there was never a doubt in me that I’d love this one, it’s a cross between The Silver Screams heavier side but also a homage to The Predator Becomes The Prey which I also have a huge soft spot for, it’s very aggressive, has those little licks dotted along to add to the chaos, the chorus is lovely and melodic but very sinister, the best part for me is those extraordinary harsh vocals which ques the music up perfectly to just absolute drop and smash your ear drums, great homage to Stephen King and Pet Semetary. “Welcome to Horrorwood'' the album's title track is like the anthem for this sequel, it embodies a fictional place fabricated from the lifestyles of Hollywood but for those of us with a cult following invested in all things horror, “welcome to horrorwood, where anyone would kill for a call back”. “Take Your Pick” is written from My Bloody Valentine, and what better way to make a track sound sinister as all hell than to guest star legendary Cannibal Corpse vocalist Corpsegrinder, it’s the most evil sounding song on the whole album and I am beyond addicted to it. “The Box'' is about the legendary film Hellraiser which features both Brandon Saller from Atreyu and Ryan Kirby from Fit For A King lending guest vocals, Saller in particular being the face of the chorus which is just glorious and definitely unmistakably his voice. “Wurst Vacation” just hits with Rammstein vibes straight away, not just from the “Eins, Zwei, Drei, DIE” but just the industrial sound, having it's content derived from Hostel, an amazing song. 

They’ve not just gone all out musically, they’ve really given the full package in terms of PR, famous guest musicians, an interactive interesting story which is basically like a small movie, the themes linking to famous horror films, and phenomenal merchandise (which I own far too much of). It's the first time in quite a long time I’ve been able to just get in the car and stick the album on and just listen to it over and over and over again, but with this one it continues to be just seamless and easy to do so.

[10/10]

#INK #Ice Nine Kills #Silver Scream 2 #Welcome to Horrorwood #Hellraiser #Cabin Fever #Psycho #Hostel #My Bloody Valentine #Pet Semetary #The Fly #The Evil Dead #Candyman #American Psycho #Childs Play #Resident Evil #Metal #Album #Review #2021 #MyRemains

[belit0]

Bestial Facts

Rating: E

Pairing: [Otsutsuki Indra / Haruno Sakura]

Tw: none!

Alpha/Omega Dynamics

And there he was, he had received her call, he had interpreted it perfectly, and now he decided to act. He could not ignore the deep feeling of solitude that hovered over the fragrance that Sakura detached especially towards his person, asking him not to refuse her one more minute of his attention. He felt like in his interior a beast was tearing his claws against its invisible cell, demanding to be liberated.

No, he would not let it win, he would not give in like before. His desires cried out lust, need, taking the Omega that now begged for his help, but he would not allow his nature to win another battle like days ago, when he accidentally hurt the woman he was now trying to protect with so much impetus. But what was he doing there if he wasn’t going to give her what she was asking for? Was he taking the trouble to disappoint her in person?

Sakura observed him with eyes full of sadness, lost in a fantasy that was near to be fulfilled, but at the same time very far. The internal battle of Indra took much more time of what he would never be able to recognize. He had hurt too many mates during his life as the founder of the Clan, gaining access to any Omega he wanted to possess. His primitive side was not rational, his Alpha was not someone who could be controlled, and whoever tried it ended up really injured. He didn’t want that same fate for the girl who looked at him with almost palpable despair.

If his demon was released, if his beast was allowed to walk freely again, he was not sure what would happen.

“Indra plea…”

“This is not going to work. I’m sorry I got you hoping for my presence, if that was the case. I advise you to ask someone else for assistance.” The last words were spoken as the entity walked down the hall, away from what had long been his room, leaving behind the woman who watched him from his bed, to return bitterly to his own.

He knew of the young woman’s vulnerability, that she would not be able to control herself. He needed to take care of her, he needed to protect her, to wrap her in eternally soft caresses that would provide the security that this moment she did not feel around her. But he was not the one. If he tried, his Alpha would get in the way.

Before he could advance further from the sliding door where he left the painful conversation, a hand grabbed him in an iron grip by his forearm, while a spleen slipped gracefully and gently from his stomach to his chest. He could feel a face buried in the hair that fell loose and wild on his back, in the absence of his frequent ponytail.

The embrace was not nearly strong enough to hold him actuality, but he allowed the gesture of love. They held the same position for what felt like long minutes, while the only thing Indra could focus on was the arm that held him and did not allow him to run away. He had never felt what a caress was, beyond those received familiarly by his brother and mother. His relationships had been based on concerns of mere satisfaction in the face of human, or rather animal, need. And since his mates always ended up badly hurt, no one wanted to see him again a second time. He did not blame them, he would have made the same decision to be them.

But there was the woman who radiated purity through her emerald eyes, begging him to take her. She probably didn’t know what she was getting into, didn’t understand the seriousness of the matter.

He didn’t come out of his presumptuous thoughts until he felt her flailing on his back, while her breathing became inconsistent, irregular. She was crying for him, for what he said, and she thought he was rejecting her.

He turned on his heels, undoing the support he had enjoyed so much moments before, to face the woman, whom he was gaining in height by two heads.

“…”

“No, Indra. You answered my call. You know I want this as much as you do! You felt it, you felt me, you can’t just come and act like nothing is happening.”

“I can’t hurt you, I don’t want to see you go through the hands of that beast and…”

“There is no beast here. I only see the Alpha I am choosing to take my first heat. You all see me as something inferior, that must stop. Give me a chance to show you that things are not as you think.”

The entity’s gaze was fixed on the floor, suddenly, admiring the polished wood that ran under his feet was a much more pleasant task. He was forced to relocate his vision to the pink-haired girl when her tiny hand took his and squeezed it lightly. His eyes were lost in the serenity of her soul, the light she radiated without even being aware of it. He could feel warmth growing in his chest, a feeling that took him back to his childhood. He recognized it, but found it hard to believe that he was experiencing it again.

It was happiness. Indra was happy once again, after an eternity.

When Sakura noticed the change of the man before her sight, she turned around and directed them both, taken by the hand, for the way that before they had traveled separately. When she found the room, she introduced him in it, and closed the door behind him. His Sharingan traveled quickly from her, then to the bed, finally to the floor. With a faint sigh that admitted defeat for his main objective, he tried to gather the strength he would need to fight the battle ahead.

“You can do this, Indra.”

“I will need your help. There is only one rule I need you to follow.”

Sakura looked at him with her arched eyebrows, curiously, interlacing her hands in front of her. She waited without hurrying him to continue, he had all the right of the world to take his time.

“If you need to stop, you should say "Indora”. My properly pronounced name holds back my Alpha.“

"Please just relax…”

“Promise me you’ll do it if you have to.” His crimson eyes were fixed on hers. In earnest, he let her know that until she took his one rule seriously, he would not proceed. The distance that he interposed between both was uncomfortable considering the facts that were about to happen, and Sakura wanted to eliminate it as soon as possible.

“I promise.”

It was the only thing needed to pounce on her and to begin to undertake the way of satisfying his hunger for her. Dammit, she was so beautiful. Even with trace of tears in her eyes, slightly red and swollen by the crying sessions that he calculated had also taken place previously, her face continued being dazzling. She was so innocent, so full of illusions and fantasies, and he was about to take a piece of that, one she wanted him to have. For once in his life he felt that maybe he deserved a moment of peace, love.

Love.

Quickly, he took her hands, which were intertwined in front of her, and with a great effort to outline mercy, he kissed her deeply, forcing her arms down to prevent her from falling backwards under his weight. He held her lips together until he felt the air run out of the young woman’s body, and only stepped aside to allow her a little recovery.

While Sakura inhaled agitated, Indra took her in his arms and manipulated her as if she was his prey. His hunt. He raised her as if she weighed what a leaf that fell on the ground after the autumn breeze, and with expert movements he indicated her how to place her legs around his waist. Quickly his hands took position under her bottom, giving her more support and comfort, while their mouths were desperately searching for each other. He walked up to one of the walls of the small room, and made her back impact with it. She took advantage of it and used it as an extra support, massaging Indra’s neck with her hands, scratching his skull whenever she felt the need to get more of the bond between their lips. He couldn’t help but smile with satisfaction when he felt the girl’s tongue look for a way into his mouth, and he parted to look at her.

Confused, afraid she had done something wrong, she questioned him without words. Her cheeks soon turned pink at the prolonged silence. Such a vulnerable Omega against such a hungry gaze.

“You’re mine.” The possessive and somber tone with which the man spoke made her skin bristle, there was no seduction in his voice. What he said was a fact. He was simply letting her know it. From the height difference, Indra’s eyes were even more intimidating than before. Sakura felt like a victim between the claws of a predator, one that had been waiting a long time for something to ingest.

But it was what she wanted.

“I am yours.”

Indra grunted before summarizing his act and taking her mouth with all the impact of his need. Their kiss was extremely wet, while their tongues danced in the rising fire of excitement. His hands left abruptly the texture of the dressed buttocks of Sakura, and they caught her ones with imposition, making her to stop playing with his hair. Taking her by the wrists, he placed her two arms against the wall, one at each side of her head. She was forced to perform more strength with her hip to stay in the air. She knew he wouldn’t let her fall, but that was his game, and she would follow him all the way.

He came even closer to her, closing completely the slightest distance between their bodies, and never stopped kissing her. Their torsos were connected, and he could feel Sakura’s breasts under her robe. He was desperate for her skin, to caress her until she smelled only like him, spreading his scent all over her body. He needed to touch her, he needed to see her, he needed her.

With a fast movement, he released one of Sakura’s wrists to undo the knot of her robe. Before the act, she let her arm fall to her side, allowing the blood to circulate and her sleeping limb to wake up. To her surprise, Indra seemed really annoyed with her daring. It had slowed down his notions, and he looked at her scolding, while his head lay tilted to the side.

“You move when I command it.”

“I’m so…”

The words did not find their end since the only thing she could do was moan before feeling the Alpha’s mouth on one of her nipples. At some point, and with the speed that characterized him, he had finished untying the knot and had discovered her body. Sakura did not have time to feel embarrassed, because the attention she now received felt too good to think about it.

While one of her breasts was explored by his warm tongue, the other one was massaged by a strong and big hand, which kneaded her skin as if he needed to remove it and get under it. The eventual suction on her hardened pink pearl caused her head to tilt backwards, looking for even more support on the wall to help her hold on high.

Sakura reveled a pure and unmarked neck, and Indra placed his hand on it, putting some pressure on her airways. She was a practitioner of Ninju, or Shinobi, as it was called nowadays, and a recognized doctor, she would know how to indicate whether he was suffocating her. He located moans stuck in her throat that were trying to depart, and he dedicated to bite the nipple to which only he had attended with his hand. Her breast was now as moist as her mouth. He slid his tongue from her chest to her collarbone, reaching slowly the joint between her ear and her head. He left a trail of hickeys and marks along the way, where he had stopped to pay special attention to his favorite areas. He nibbled on her earlobe and gently pulled on it, while she spread her hands through his hair and shoulders at a constant rhythm.

In a movement that Sakura did not expect, Indra pumped his waist towards her now exposed femininity, but to which he had not yet dedicated special attention. The nails of the young woman left marks in the exposed skin of his neck, and he knew he needed more of those. Suddenly, the gown that covered only him was already a nuisance. He placed one hand under her bottom, and the other on her lower back, and thus separated her firmly from the wall. Their foreheads were joined and their gazes were lost in each other’s eyes.

Indra walked to the foot of her bed, and threw the girl on top of it. It was a light touchdown that resulted in a beneficial landing, as he was delighted to see the Omega’s breasts bounce off the impact with the mattress. However, she was not very happy with the action.

“Indra that was it!”

“I’ll make it up to you. Take that off.”

If there was something that pleased her, it was that the man had abandoned all traces of formality. This was the raw version she longed to see in him. With glacial agility, she quickly stripped off her loose robe, receiving an Indra also naked who hovered over her.

They were united again in a passionate kiss, but considerably slower and more tangible. Sakura held her lover with a hand tangled in his wild hair, while with the other one she would travel his now exposed body. She enjoyed feeling every muscle tone against her touch, running over his shoulders, his arms, part of his back, his chest. She felt she could not get enough of that wonderful sculpture.

Indra pushed his boner against her entrance, playing with the friction and warmth of the moisture that began to cover his now exposed limb. With his elbows and forearms at the sides of her head, he prevented from putting all his weight on her, while he enjoyed how the Omega provided feeling caresses to his whole being.

“I need to taste what is mine.” He said in a hiss, clenching his teeth before the impotence that he felt for the lack of Sakura’s lips in his.

“Yes. Please.”

He descended softly and slowly, leaving a new humid way after his step. He had to make an enormous effort not to sink his teeth in her sweet point, so tempting and provocative. He just tasted, felt, enjoyed it, and continued down to her nipples. He made sure that they were both swollen and over-stimulated, that’s how he liked his Omegas to look. With his tongue he traced a wet route to her mount, where he finally smelled it.

He felt her true scent.

And then is when the self-control that Indra had been carrying exploded inside him.

“G-go get Mmadar-ra…” his voice was deeper and deeper, and he had sat on his knees in the bed, abruptly interrupting his activity. The hair covered his face, for what Sakura could not glimpse his countenance or distinguish why he said that ridiculousness suddenly.

“ What are you talk…”

“…He’s …coming…” He fell into his hands, exhaling and inhaling violently, while she curled up on the opposite side of the bed, seeking refuge among the sheets and pillows. Protecting her naked body would do little good.

“Who…?” She really wanted to know?

In his position, Indra’s body twisted abruptly, shaking with strange movements as a series of unexplained events unfolded before her eyes. Uncontrollable grunts escaped from his interior, unintelligible, guttural words were thrown into the air, as if trying to fight what was happening to him. His hair, if thought long in its natural state, took on a longer length, and the pattern of spikes that characterized Uchiha’s style became more pronounced, creating even more eccentric spikes than those he normally wore. On his nails, long claws grew. He could decapitate anyone he wanted with them. Heading to his mouth, two upper fangs made a surprising appearance as he opened it in a ceaseless frenzy. As for his eyes, his Sharingan took the pattern of his Eternal Mangekyou, while the outline he drew each day under them extended considerably, occupying his temples. His body, already naturally stocky, grew notably in size; his shoulders widened, his chest extended, his abdominals contracted.

The new Indra sat on his knees on the other side of the bed once his body stopped shaking and convulsing because of the physical changes to which he was subjected. With his eyes closed, he remained still, immobile. The new amount of hair falling from his head surrounded him, generating a blanket around. His claws remained peacefully on his thighs, while his being seemed to have entered into a state of meditation.

Until a slight movement, impossible for the eyes of those who were not Shinobis, took possession of his countenance.

Indra was moving his nose. Or rather, the tip of the it.

It was almost imperceptible, but Sakura noticed it while analyzing the situation.

“Indra…?”

His eyes opened to an alarming speed, while a twisted and sinister smile appeared in his face. This was not Indra, she understood. To this being it applied the only rule he had given her before accepting.

This was Indora.

Indora was smelling her.

Indora had already smelled her.

#indra otsutsuki #haruno sakura #abo au #alpha omega #otsutsuki indra #sakura haruno #indra x sakura #indrasaku #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines

[ask-the-royals]

(I’m putting a “read more” thing so that it’s organized and you don’t scroll for an eternity. Also, trigger warning for blood and violence.)

(Finally got the confidence I needed to post this. I hope y’all enjoy the beginning of this massive arc!)

Since that meeting with Hubert’s father, King Dearil, it had been a couple of days. The tension ran thick among the others, especially the two princes, but nothing had happened as of late that was of importance. Despite that, Hubert had run out of the castle after sneaking past the guards to not alarm them. He had to get to the garden- and fast.

The sky was rich with black and dotted with silver specks of stars. Dark, ominous clouds prevented moonlight to shine through- no ray dared to trickle through the thick blanket of blackness. The atmosphere rang with silence that was deafening, where no birds or bugs dared to utter a sound. The only sound that echoed within Hubert’s ears were his pounding footsteps as he sprinted, his sword sheathed at his side. The ruby-red blade shimmered faintly whenever any light from a streetlight dared to flicker onto the vermillion sword.

Hubert’s cerulean eyes glowed dimly like shining sapphires as he ran, unsurprised when he could’ve sworn he could hear his thundering heart beat against his chest.

“Damn it Dmitri!” Hubert hissed under his breath, worry creasing his facial expression. He was not one for cussing- he commonly voted against it. But at this moment, he didn’t care. He had to get to the garden, because as he found out, that’s where Dmitri was heading.

He also found out that’s where the intruder was last spotted.

Hubert slowed his sprinting, his breaths coming out as exasperated gasps and heavy, forced huffs. His eyes were sharpened like griffin’s eyes, where his pupils were sharpened into dangerous slits. His head whipped around constantly during his panic as he tried to slow his breaths, but that didn’t do much when he saw the crimson blood that was splattered across the cobblestone road.

Hubert emitted a loud, pained whine- the sound pitiful. His cerulean eyes, slitted like the blades of dual daggers, darted around towards the blood splatter. It was almost like there was a struggle, where the victim had either desperately crawled from the pursuer or was able to flee by foot or other means. Ice patches decorated parts of the cobble, reflecting the low light of the street lamps magnificently.

Hubert pushed onward once he got his second wind, following the path of blood that was laid out in front of him. There was a story of victimization held behind each droplet of blood and each trickle of vermillion that seeped into the cracks of the road, where small seedlings imprisoned the blood with their roots in the soil.

Hubert’s feet made no sound as he hurried forth, his movements as swift as a predator tracking prey. Despite his swiftness and agility, it didn’t take long for him to come to a sudden halt when his keen eye saw the black heap that laid in the middle of the road where no one dared tread. Another loud whisper escaped Hubert’s trembling lips as he sprinted forward and dropped to his knees beside the body that laid there, gasping for breath.

Hubert pulled the man onto his lap quickly, propping him up. His eyes met Dmitri’s as the slightly taller man huddled close to Hubert, his breaths coming out in a forced, pained fashion.

Hubert pressed his hand against Dmitri’s side where there was a deep gash made from a blade. Beautifully dangerous blood stained Hubert’s fingertips almost immediately as he applied pressure, then with his other hand he tugged the corvat from around Dmitri’s neck to firmly tie it over the wound. It was such pristine and perfect fabric of sapphire blue, but the blue was no match for the redness that soaked into the fabric.

“You’re.. you’re going to be alright, okay? You’ll be alright, Dmitri...” Hubert forced out, his cerulean eyes flickering in the darkness towards Dmitri’s response that only came out as a whine.

Hubert was so ready to pick Dmitri up and hurry to the medical ward, but his head abruptly perked towards the faint thrumming of a blade meeting cold air. In one swift movement, he unsheathes his blade with his dominant hand and lifted it while twisting his back. It wasn’t the most comfortable position but he easily met the dual katanas of the attacker. With his sheer strength alone, he shoved back against the downwards pressure of the dual weapons, allowing Hubert to hop to his feet in that split second of breathing space.

Hubert was the only thing standing between this black-cloaked individual from getting to the man Hubert loved. He couldn’t waste any time- Dmitri needed help! But this assassin clearly won’t let up easily.

Silently, the prince watched the assassin’s stance- firm and defining. The assassin was skilled, with their hands holding the two blades; two sides of the same weapon. There was a moment of silence that felt like it dragged on for all of eternity, and with light glinting off of the face of the chromium blades, the assassin struck forward.

Hubert pivoted skillfully on his feet with the swiftness of wind, countering the katanas with his singular blade of crimson. They struck back and forth endlessly, their feet sliding along the cobblestone pavement like two partners in dance. This was a dance of death- one wrong move and it could be over, and both of them knew that fact. Both of them attempted to strike whenever there was any kind o fopening but the other would counter flawlessly as if it was purely instinctual procedure.

Hubert’s eyes, glowing a bright gold instead of cerulean, were sharpened predatory like griffin’s keen eyes. He predicted the assassin’s chromium katanas with ease, even as they danced around each other and had to hop in different directs to avoid the teeth of the blade. For a moment, Hubert met the eyes of the masked assassin, where one eye blazed like a brilliant sapphire and held a sharp contrast to Hubert’s golden gaze.

In that split moment, Hubert hesitated towards the intense, feral glare his attacker gave him. That slight hesitation allowed the assassin to strike in a downwards, angled motion, where the blade met the flesh just beneath Hubert’s left eye. Hubert’s yelp of pain split through the silence of the lonely garden as the warmth of sanguine trickled down Hubert’s cheek from the clean cut. He pivoted swiftly on his feet in a quick recovery to avoid the singing blade of the assassin. In a counter strike, he danced to the side to avoid another slice and ignored the pain throbbing beneath his right eye, his sword soon meeting the assassin’s side.

Hubert briefly perked when he heard the inhuman yelp the assassin emitted. The attacker stumbled back and glanced towards their torn cloak along his side and the blood that fell like raindrops onto the cobble. They perked when Hubert lunged forward but Hubert’s blade met the air as blue light engulfed the assassin, lighting up the area briefly and vanished. The remnants of the teleportation dissipated into the air like white and blue smoke until there was nothing there.

Hubert panted and held his blade for a brief moment to make sure the assassin didn’t return. In that moment of silence, Dmitri’s quiet groan of pain snapped him out of his angry trance. His jaw was set and his teeth had been gritted but his head whipped around to face Dmitri, his slightly feral demeanor immediately softening. He hurried to Dmitri’s side and dropped to his knees after sheathing his sword. In one swift movement, he pulled Dmitri into his arms and held him close to his chest when he rose to his feet.

Hubert couldn’t think clearly but he could faintly feel his feet pounding the ground like thunder and his heavy breaths that escaped his lungs. His head screamed at him to slow down, as did his legs, but he pushed forward towards the direction of the castle. He had to save Dmitri- he had to! Once he knew Dmitri was alright, they could catch the assassin who dared to injure Dmitri.

Hubert’s right eye was closed tightly and instinctively as blood from the cut beneath it trickled down his cheek. The blood had a small chance at flying into his eye but the pain was enough to make him want to close it. He wasn’t thinking clearly either, especially as he stumbled and staggered over uneven cobblestone along the path. He was uncaring of the warm blood that soaked his hands from the crimson that soaked through the cloth pressed firmly against the gash. The gash almost seemed to emit some kind of blue and white smoke that trailed from beneath the cloth.

This was bad.

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.

.

.

Hubert found himself dozing on and off on the chair he was sitting in, dark circles prominent beneath his eyes. He lifted a shaky hand to his eyes and rubbed them slowly, also brushing some of his messy unkempt hair out of his face. He looked worse for wear and completely exhausted- given the fact that the window outside was bright, it was at least late morning. Whether mere hours or days have gone by, it was impossible to tell. A large bandaged patch was pressed against the cut just beneath his left eye, securely held there by medical tape that could easily be removed once it’s healed.

In front of the prince, Dmitri laid limply on the bed, his breathing slow but rhythmic. It at least wasn’t abnormal. Every time Dmitri inhaled, his bandaged chest would rise and slightly shift the blanket that was draped over him, until he exhaled and his chest lowered. His arms were also bandaged with a fresh wrap, expertly covering his limbs. He seemed unresponsive and Hubert was very clearly worried.

Doctors and medics scurried here and there in the private room they were using for Dmitri. One specific man was looking over Dmitri’s bed, checking his pulse regularly and seeming focused on where the wound was located. The man’s hand was pressed where Dmitri’s wound was covered by bandages before he glanced towards the other prince. “You should get rest, your highness.”

“I don’t want to sleep in case Dmitri needs me, Drogo.” Hubert murmured quietly, lifting his head to focus on Drogo. The unfamiliar man was quite fancy, wearing a full-on tuxedo with dress pants clad in black. His light blue hair was brushed to perfection with a fluffy demeanor and his enchanting ruby-red eyes focused upon Hubert, meeting his gaze.

“I respect that.” Drogo murmured and refocused on Dmitri. “He’s stable.”

Neither of them seemed to notice the askers and anons finally materializing into existence, taking the forms of their previous embodiments. Neither of them seemed to notice how the askers and anons both knew exactly what happened, but hasn’t been able to do a thing.

(Drogo is now available for asks.)

#tw blood and violence #story post #au #ask blog #Hubert Galeforce #Dmitri Petrov #Galetrov #Drogo #post #chapter 6 #start of chapter

[missesdavinci]

This is a series I started to quench my thirst for Vlad and hurt myself because Leonardo is my one true love 😂 I hope you will enjoy this as much as I do!

[Vlad Tepes x Reader] [word count: 1190]

The Madness Inside Me

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Rewind

Ruby eyes watched me carefully, scanning every inch of my being. Vibrant reflections danced in his irises, adding to their charm. The pale moonlight streaming through the stained glass really set the scene.

The man in front of me leaned forward, I shifted my back hitting the cold stone altar. An icy shudder rattled through me. Unconsciously closing my eyes my thoughts flashed back. I clenched my palms, fingers scratching the rough material behind me.

“Cara mia, just come back!”

Leonardo’s beautiful golden orbs held my gaze. They looked sorrowful, tattered.

“No. I can’t. Not with this madman living right next to me. I’m not his ‘guest’, in his eyes I’m an exotic obscurity and I won’t trust him, not for a single second.”

I tried to stay calm but my breath hitched at the last part and it didn’t go unrecognized by this beautiful man.

Even though I had tried to keep my distance he became too attentive towards me.

Leonardo’s gloved hand reached out cradling my cheek. His fingers felt callous but his touch was warm and soft. I felt a tinge in my heart, a bitter dark one. It was a pre taste of something I could never have, should never have even though it was all I longed for… all I had longed for even before I found myself in this strange world.

I took a deep breath, trying to tame my raging heart. It was a foolish decision. He smelled of leather, old books and fresh cigarillos. A comforting scent that made me feel safe and secure.

A smile rounded the corners of my lips, it was a desperate one.

Early had I realized that I would need to go back. Someway, somehow. While this was a world I knew very well, it was not my ‘original’ one and while I thought I knew the plot of this world it differed immensely from what I had memorized. Whether it be that my occurrence didn’t happen the way the rules of this world dictated or anything else I wasn’t aware of, I was sure if I wanted the man I loved the most to be happy I needed to get out of this dimension.

To this world I seemed to be a systemic error and while it strangely couldn’t harm me, it could bend the story of the figures I adored so much to the extent they went insane. I would never let that happen to my one true love.

“Cara mia, don’t be scared nothing will happen, I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Hah” It was a strangled sound.

I know that you’ll try to keep me safe. You did it for the past months but I can’t let this world keep hurting you.

I put my hand on top of his, slowly removing his warmth.

“No Leonardo, please don’t. You cannot.”

His gaze spoke a silent ‘why’.

“In this world, no, in this lifetime it’s not meant to be. I know I speak cryptic words but you need to trust me. I want you to be happy, I want you to be safe and thus we need to part right now.”

I had never felt so heavy as in this pitiful moment. The moment I saw the glow die in his radiant antique pools of gold but it was for the better.

Salty beads carved their way down my cheeks. Feeling the heat of agony rising, I stared back at him again, not able to tell if it was amusement or dejection twinkling in his face.

My feet or rather my fate had taken me to most dangerous character. I wasn’t one to lament though, had I been the girl to play with the double edged sword called Vlad Tepes.

“It’s bad etiquette thinking of a past lover in front of me, my beautiful rose.”

“Have I ever cared about etiquette?”

“No, and that’s why I will forgive you, just this once.”

Vlad’s words while playful had a certain edge to them that made the fine hair on my neck stand up. Goosebumps pebbled on my skin, it was definitely a warning.

“Well then…”

Platinum hair tickling my forehead he leaned in close enough for me to feel his breath. I shivered, to my own astonishment it was a rather delightful sensation.

“Today I will take what’s mine.”

Before I could process his words or even the meaning he had swept me up, placing me onto the crumbling altar. Dracula’s touch was cold, even through the layers of my clothing. Such a harsh contrast to the sweet love embedded in my soul.

Chills rattling my body Vlad pressed against me his frame weighing me down. My mind went astray, haywire, my thoughts became clouded.

What in the world had I thought when deciding to get in involved with the tyrant emperor? The childish naivety that he was the only one not influenced by my presence had led me to a monster. A shameful wave clung to me realizing that even in all the direness my heart seemed to get excited.

No, that couldn’t be. In a futile attempt my human arms tried to compete with his pure blooded strength but I was nothing more than prey wriggling inside a predator’s grip.

A sweet, almost cute laugh echoed through the empty church.

“My sweetest rose, don’t hurt yourself for it will only hurt me. Don’t be afeared, you’ll feel good soon.”

Ceasing my movement all I could hear was my frantic pulse racing for its life.

“Haaah!”

My vision went white as his fangs penetrated the sensitive skin right next to my collarbone. It was the most pleasurable feeling and the most emotional pain I ever felt.

Why did I feel so fuzzy though?

Why did it feel like butterflies exploding inside me?

Why did my body ache with so much longing when his fangs left my flesh?

Why did I feel the urge to drown in him?

Why Vlad?

Why, why, why?!

Why couldn’t it be the one I… the one… I felt… nothing about anymore?

My thoughts spiraled into an endless abyss of despair.

Regaining my senses I blinked. Rather than recovering it felt more as I was reborn, with something sharper, something more exquisite, more outstanding than the human mind could ever comprehend.

Taking a shaky breath I raised my upper body. Blood staining his face my creator was still in front of me, tangled between my legs hanging in midair.

“Oh, what do we have here? This is even better than I expected.”

A myriad of emotions displayed on his face as he grabbed my chin with slender fingers.

Instinctively I understood his expression. I knew that if I was to look into a mirror my eyes would reflect the same ruby color as his. I was transformed, not only into a vampire but into his slave bound to his blood forever.

What irony. I was really nothing more than an eyesore to this world.

“Tsk.”

Clicking my tongue I removed his smooth grip, this time with even force.

It was decided, I would hate him for the rest of eternity.

#ikemen vampire #IkemenVampire vlad #IkemenVampire Leonardo #ikemen vampire vlad #ikemen vampire leonardo #Vlad Tepes x reader #Leonardo da Vinci x reader #chapter 1 #hate love #enemies to lovers